THE WANDERER
I’m the type of guy who likes to roam around. I’m never in one place, I roam from town to town. Cause I'm a wanderer, yeah a wanderer. I roam around, around, around. —Dion
The first few months after my divorce, I was a confused lost soul, drowning in misery. I just couldn't understand how my perfect world could dissolve so quickly. The more I thought about it, the more confused I got.
It was at this time that my brother Mike would put a bug in my ear that helped get me out of my rut. He had transferred in his job with TWA and had moved to the San Francisco Bay area. So, in February 1972, I transferred in my job and moved back to my old Navy stomping grounds.
I heard the calling, Go West, young man, there’s plenty of gold (blondes) in them there California hills. You would have thought I would had learned to keep my distance from the blondes. Not yet anyway.
I found no gold, even though there were plenty of blondes. I had a hard time fitting into the hippy social environment. It seemed all everyone wanted to do was smoke dope and make love. Not that I’m against those things, but surely, there has to be something more to life. I felt like an alien in a strange and distance world.
Carmel was just up the road from the Bay area. Something kept nagging me to return there. So, one weekend I decided to drive over and visit the old honeymoon grounds. I should had stayed in the Bay area.
As soon as I entered Carmel city limits, I felt the tingling sensation creep over my entire body. Not only was the hair on my arms dancing, but memories from the last trip invaded my mind. Memories that I could never discern that still taunted me. I made a quick U-turn, put the pedal to the metal, and shot out of town like a bat out of hell. That would be my last visit to that place.
A couple weeks later another vacation spot beckoned. One that would be a lot friendlier and entertaining.
“There’s seven women to every man,” spouted the number-one hound dog (my brother Mike), one day, after suffering another boring weekend. My brother sensed the condition that my condition was in and came up with a solution where I could get my mojo back.
With those odds, Australia proved to be the perfect vacation spot for two red-blooded Americans on the prowl. So off to the outback we travelled.
What a long flight. It seemed to take forever to get there. When we finally arrived, the seven-to- one odds met us at the first establishment we walked into. There were females galore. They were pumped, lathered, and hot to trot. It was perfect timing. It had been ladies’ night, and male strippers had just finished performing. We got there just as the place opened to the public. We got the pick of the litter and had a fantastic dream vacation that definitely helped me crawl out of my funk.
On April 8, 1974, hammering Hank Aaron hit career home run number 715, breaking Babe Ruth’s all-time home run record. As you can see, I am still following my favorite sport.
In August of 1974, I again transferred in my job, this time moving to Jeddah, Saudi Arabia, the land of enchantment. Once more, it was Mike who inspired the relocation. He had transferred there a few months earlier, and it didn’t take much to convince me to leave California, because the social environment and traffic was driving me insane.
TWA had a contract with Saudi Airlines and provided staff to train Saudi employees in the operation of their airline. This would be my task in the avionics field.
I received a 10 percent salary raise, free furnished housing, utilities, and didn’t have to pay federal or state taxes on any of my earnings. What a deal! I would be able to save a lot of money. I planned to work there for five years and return to my previous job in San Francisco with a nice portfolio.
Unbeknownst to me, my plans would go astray. It’s the abductors again. They had other plans. I wish they would get on the stick and clue me in on them.
ARABIAN NIGHTS
Oh I come from a land, from a faraway place, where the caravan camels roam. Where it’s flat and immense and the heat is intense, it’s barbaric, but hey, it’s home. —Aladdin
ALLAHU AKBAR!
I came up out of bed like my pants were on fire.
What the Hell?
I had just fallen asleep. The cranky old noisy A/C window unit had kept me awake most of the night.
At the crack of dawn, someone shouted through a loud speaker located right outside my hotel window. This call to prayer would happen throughout the country, five times a day, every day.
I had arrived in Jeddah, Saudi Arabia, around 10 P.M. the night before. There were no Jet ways, so the airplane parked on the ramp to deplane. As I departed, my breath was sucked right out of me. It felt like I had walked into an oven set at 350 degrees. It would not have taken long and I’d have been baked to a crisp.
Welcome to the land of enchantment.
Although I had visited many foreign countries, this would be the first time I lived in one. I was in for another cultural shock, but also for the time of my life!
The Kingdom of Saudi Arabia was the largest state in the Middle East by land area. Most of the land was desert and deserted. The country was founded by Abdul-Aziz bin Saud in 1932. The government had been an Islamic monarchy since the country's inception. Saudi Arabia had the world’s largest oil reserves and was the world’s largest oil exporter, thanks to American oil companies. Because of the oil revenue, every Saudi citizen was provided free health care and education. They paid no taxes.
The Saudi government was their religion. Their laws came from the Quran. Even the Royal family had to adhere to the law of the Mutawa (bearded religious police). They patrolled the streets with long sticks, ready to beat anyone not praying at prayer time or any women not properly dressed.
Saudi women could show no skin in public, especially on their face. They wore a face veil called a “niqab”, which covers the lower half of her face, only revealing her eyes.
They had to be accompanied by at least one male relative and had to walk behind that relative. They were not allowed in the front seat of a car. They could not file for divorce and were stoned for adultery. Not an ideal environment for California or any Western female.
Western males could mingle with Saudi males, but Saudi females were strictly off limits. We could be kicked out of the country just for looking at one. Apparently Saudi males thought our customs were a bad influence on them.
The Saudi men were the bosses (at least outside the home), even though their native dress was a skirt. They could marry four wives at a time. The men could marry women of any nationality, but the Saudi women were allowed to marry only Saudi men.
If a Saudi female were to marry outside her nationality, she would disgrace and humiliate her family. Her father and brothers then had the right to execute her spouse and send her into a Bedouin tribe as a slave. It was a culture where the men had total control over their women, outside the home.
When a Saudi family had guests for dinner, the men eat first. The women got the leftovers, but only after the guests had departed. Most meals consisted of rice, vegetables, chicken, and lamb. They never ate meat from a pig. Saudis didn’t use silverware and served their meals in plates, placed on a blanket on the floor. They ate with their right hand, never the left hand. It was considered unclean to eat with the hand that wiped your butt. It was a quick way to get excused from the meal.
What’s a lefty to do?
SOL!
When sitting on the floor to eat, they are careful not to point the soles of their feet at another person, as this is considered a grave insult.
I was invited for dinner by a Saudi co-worker one evening. As we sat around the meal, I heard giggling from a back room and turned to see several females peeking around the hallway corner. My co-worker told me they were curious to see a Western male.
Sometimes at the city market I would catch a Saudi female checking me out. I could see their eyes through the thin veils that the younger generation wore. They would look me straight in the eye, smile, and sometimes even wink, but none dared to speak.
I learned to say “Hello. You are very beautiful,” in Arabic. That had them smiling even more, as they batted their flirting eyes at me. Very tempting, but I had been warned not to pursue the flirtations.
You’d best heed the warning, Tom.
The land of enchantment was the land of swift justice. Alcohol was forbidden, but accessible. Some foreigners had stills in their houses. Saudi authorities would usually not bother them unless they sold to the natives. Thieves had their right hand cut off for stealing. This would mean that they could never eat in public again, cause they would have only their left hand to eat with. Murderers were publicly beheaded. I witnessed a beheading once. Not a pretty sight.
One of their most used phrases is “Inshallah,” which means, “ it is God’s will.” For anything to be accomplished, it had to be “Inshallah.” At times, that would be very frustrating for us Westerns, as it would take ‘forever’ to get anything accomplished.
There wasn’t much for us foreigners to do in our spare time. The Saudis had TV, but there was only a couple channels and both was in Arabic. Once a week, a movie would be shown at the TWA compound. Most foreigners were provided living quarters bunched together in villas or apartments, surrounded by ten foot concrete walls owned by their employers.
The Red Sea provided most of our entertainment. Many of us rented small cabins on the beach and spent our weekends there. The Saudi weekend was Friday and Saturday.
We would snorkel, spear fish, and dive along the reef, which dropped to over a hundred feet below the surface about fifty feet from the shore line.
Mike and I were diving one day, facing each other as we were taught to do. All of a sudden, about fifty feet down, I saw his eyes open real wide, as fear appeared on his face. He started making gurgling sounds, and bubbles spouted from his mouthpiece, as he looked over my shoulder behind me. Frightened, I turned to see what had gotten him so upset. A big fish tail whipped past, just missed my head, as the current in its wake knocked us off balance. The great white shark vanished as quickly as it had appeared. The only reason I lived to tell you this was because it must not have been hungry at that moment.
MACHO MAN
Every man wants to be a macho macho man. To have the kind of body, always in demand. I’ve got to be a Macho Man --Village People
My love life was taking a major hit. After four months I was wondering why in the world I would want to subject myself to celibacy.
Thank God for Ramadan! Heaven opened its pearly gates. I was about to get back in the saddle again.
Once a year, Muslims from all over the world flew into Saudi Arabia to visit Mecca, their holy city. Saudi Arabian Airlines would contract with other airlines to help with the mass number of Muslims coming into the country. The foreign airlines had lots of flight attendants, who had to lay over for a few days. In those days, flight attendants were female, young, cute, and mostly single. My salvation!
They stayed in hotels with armed guards to keep away undesirable critters, but where there’s a will there will always be a way. I met Tina, Sharon, and Brenda at their hotel pool.
Tina and Sharon were two chicks of color who were from the Bronx. We were of complete opposite cultures, even though we were all Americans. I was just happy to be around and chat in my native language, especially with the opposite sex.
Now why would two Bronx babes want anything to do with a Midwest, small town, white country boy, with a southern slang?
We shall see.
Their last evening in the country, they were able to sneak me past the guards and into their room. Oh my! I had never been with a black woman in all my travels. Neither had I been with two women at the same time. Even with the air conditioner set on high, the room got very steamy that night.
First, they teased me by allowing me to watch as they made out. I’d experienced this in a fancy dream, but never before witnessed it in the flesh. Watching them was an enormous turn on! But that was just their foreplay, as they then beckoned me to join them.
What an adventure I had, as they had their way with me, all night long. They did things to me that would have embarrassed my Japanese geisha. I’m sure you would like to hear more of the details. Sorry, but according to my editors I got to maintain that darn PG-13 rating.
By morning, I was one exhausted but satisfied Tomcat. They left Jeddah the next day and I never saw them again, but that night’s memories will linger forever.
Brenda was a cute English flight attendant who flew for British Airways. I met her a couple days after I had recovered from the Bronx girls episode. I was attracted to her adorable English accent. She reminded me of Sylvia, a tiny bit. Brenda wasn’t able to sneak me into her room, but when she left, she gave me her phone number and invited me to visit her in England. I would eventually take her up on her offer, but that is a story for another time.
First my brother and I had a calling to traveled to Egypt.
ON THE ROAD AGAIN
Just can’t wait to get on the road again. Goin’ places that I’ve never been. Seein’ things that I may never see again. —Willie Nelson
I had been reading a lot in my spare time and came across an article on the pyramids of Egypt. I had a yearning to investigate their mysteries. I talked my brother Mike into going with me.
For more than forty centuries, the skyline of the Nile Valley has been dominated by the mountains of pyramids. Intended as eternal monuments to the god kings of Egypt and as everlasting sanctuaries for their bodies, the pyramids, like the Sphinx, retain their enigma. Yet how did the ancient Egyptians raise such majestic structures without the wheel? Why did they build on such a superhuman scale? Can royal vanity alone explain the feat? Or is there some other secret motive still buried beneath the desert? The more they are studied, the more mysterious they become.
When we arrived at the pyramids,(you guessed it) I started having that tingling sensation again. Yet this time it was very mild, compared to the others. No hair stood up and no memories came to mind. Nonetheless, I started to wonder if maybe this was a coincidence or if there was a solid correlation to these tingling sensations. I wasn't able to uncover it on that trip.
A couple months later the airline sent me to Miami, Florida, for L1011 autopilot training. After the training was completed, I had to go through London to get back to Saudi. I figured I might as well take Brenda up on her offer. Remember Brenda? The cute British flight attendant I had met in Jeddah.
She met me at Heathrow Airport and insisted I stay with her. I had no problem with that. Sleeping alone was not on my agenda.
I rented a car that had the steering wheel on the wrong side.
(BEEP BEEP! Hey Yank, get on the other side of the road!).
I thought they were going the wrong way. DUH! Turned out to be the bloody Yank.
Brenda was thrilled to show me around England. It’s not a very big country. We attended the theater in famous Piccadilly Square, visited Hyde Park, and went to the beach. She introduced me to tea and Yorkshire pudding. To my surprise, afternoon tea was actually a full meal. I was expecting a cup of tea.
We cruised the countryside and suddenly, in one particular area, I started getting nervous, because I felt that tingling sensation arise again. It was just a slight feeling, like I had had at the pyramids in Egypt, but not nearly as strong as I had felt in the Oklahoma cornfield and in Carmel’s monastery grounds. We were at a place called Stonehenge, located in a field two hours’ drive west of London. There’s no mistaking the huddle of ancient shapes that emerged suddenly on the horizon.
An air of mystery broods over Stonehenge, located in the English county of Wiltshire. It is one of the most famous sites in the world, composed of earthworks surrounding a circular setting of large stones believed to have been erected around 2500 BC. It was built by a culture that left no written records. Theories of the site's purpose include use as an astronomical observatory or as a religious site. It’s still a mystery where the stones came from and how and why they were erected.
Learned men from all fields of science, as well as spiritualists, clairvoyants, and cranks, have studied the site to try to uncover the secrets of its past. Who built it, over four thousand years ago? Was it a temple of the sun? A royal palace? A magical shrine? An observatory for studying the heavens? Could it be a gigantic computer built centuries before the Greeks mastered mathematics? And why was I feeling a connection to this place?
In 1977, visitors were allowed to walk among the stones and even touch them. As I touched one stone, I had an immediate awareness that was impossible to describe. My mind seemed to turn inside out. Strange flashbacks sprung from my memories. Flashbacks that made no sense. I withdrew my hand from the stone and felt normal again, expect for the hair on my arms wanting to do the two step.
“What’s the matter, Tom,” Brenda asked. “You look like you have seen a ghost.”
“I think it’s time to leave,” I replied.
I dared not touch another stone. A few weeks after my visit, Stonehenge was roped off and visitors were no longer allowed to touch the stones. The reason given was because of serious erosion. Erosion? I don’t think so. Come on man, this place had existed for over 4,000 years and suddenly there are erosion problems?
One day, perhaps, the answers to all of these questions will be known? Or will these colossal stones guard their secrets forever? Their secrets were safe that day, anyway, because I left there with no answers and feeling like a lost soul in an unknown world.
As I write this story, there have been many UFO sightings over Stonehenge. One should wonder, could there be a few alien ghosts wandering the grounds at Stonehenge?
After a few days with Brenda, I started getting antsy. I could tell we weren’t very compatible. She was a prude and boring in bed, to put it nicely. Way too conservative for me. I hit a brick wall any time I would suggest something besides the missionary position, under the covers. To put it in proper perspective, she just wasn’t my cup of tea.
For a excuse to move on, I told her I had to get back to work, even though I still had a few days of vacation left. She didn’t seem to mind as I said good-bye.
Another one of those decisions that would have a huge impact on my future.
POISON IVY
I just got back from the doctor. He told me that I had a problem. I tried to scratch away the issue.—Jonas Brothers
I still had a few days before I had to report back to Jeddah, so I headed to the Heathrow Hilton Hotel discotheque lounge. The disco lounge was a great place to relax, meet interesting people of all walks of life, and have fun getting down. Most American Saudi Airline personnel travelling to and from the States hung out there on their layover. Never in my wildest dreams could I have imagined who I would bump into that night.
Sure enough, as soon as I walked into the lounge, I spotted a familiar face. It was Susan, a Saudi flight attendant and wife of a pilot who lived in the same apartment building as I in Jeddah. She was there with another flight attendant, both on their way to the States for a vacation.
As we sat there visiting, a couple Arabic men came over and asked the girls to dance. The girls turned them down, since they were married and weren't really there to meet anyone. Arabic men are embarrassed to take no for an answer, so they kept coming back. I had heard that most Arabic men’s attitude is that all foreign women are easy scores. The girls got a little irritated with them and left the disco.
Sitting there alone, I noticed that the Arabic men had come from a booth where they were sitting with three very attractive Arabic women. The more I focused on the women, the more I noticed that all three were absolutely glorious. Especially the one sitting on the end. There seemed to be a spot light shining on her.
Suddenly, from across the room, she looked my way and our eyes locked. She had electric eyes that I could not ignore. She gave me a flirtatious smile that enticed my mojo. She swayed to the sexy and provocative beat of the disco music that was playing, all the while keeping her mysterious and sparkling eyes locked onto mine. The thought she projected was that I was a tiger she wanted to tame.
So why weren’t the guys dancing with these Arabian princess’s? I wondered.
The beat of Donna Summer’s “Hot Stuff” and the obvious invite I was receiving, persuaded me to seek some adventure. After all, I was in search of a good time. She wants to tame me, I’m game.
Our eyes stayed locked as I promenaded over to their booth and bravely greeted her.
“Assalam Alaikum,” I said.
“Wa alaikum el salaam,” she replied, with a somewhat shocked look on her face.
“Do you speak English?” I asked.
“Of course,” she said, in an adorable British accent.
“Would you like to dance?”
She looked at the Arabic men sitting in the booth and hesitated slightly before answering.
“I’d love to,” she replied.
I was a little stunned that she had accepted my offer. She didn’t know it at the time, but she had me at “of course”.
As I followed her out on the dance floor, my eyes had a hard time staying in their sockets. She was one beautiful, sexy lady! Petite with a model’s figure. Dressed in a very tight and revealing evening gown. She looked to be all dressed up for the prom. I got a whiff of her perfume and it did to me what it was advertised to do. I was totally mesmerized.
As we swayed to the music, it felt like I was floating on cloud nine. Sparks began to fly and I could feel a vibrating electrical current keeping in perfect step with us.
“My name is Tom.”
“I’m Fiza.”
“Nice to meet you,” I said, as I smiled and looked into those hypnotic brown eyes.
“Nice to meet you too,” she replied.
“Where are you from?”
“I’m from Saudi Arabia.”
Holy Shit! Saudi Arabia! Did she just say she was from Saudi Arabia?
“I’m going to school here in England. I came here tonight with my brothers and sisters,” she replied.
All of a sudden, it felt like someone pulled the plug or short-circuited our extraordinary connection. No wonder she had had that shocked look on her face when I greeted her.
Oh-My-God. This juicy peach was forbidden fruit!
Common sense told me I had better escort her back to her booth. But, since when did I have any common sense, especially when it came to beautiful women and forbidden fruit? Peaches just happened to be one of my favorites.
I had figured that she was of an Arabic culture, but I had no idea that she would be from Saudi Arabia. If you have been paying attention, you would know this is a culture that keeps its women on a short leash. I’d heard stories, however, that Saudi women liked to let their hair down when outside their country. The disco lounge was an ideal environment for doing just that. I was about to experience it firsthand.
She must have seen the shocked expression on my face, as she asked, “Is something wrong?”
After recovering from the shock, I gathered my thoughts and said, “My eyes are having a difficult time adjusting to your beauty.”
That brought a big smile my way and started the current flowing again.
We talked and danced for what seemed an eternity. Time stood still.
“I’d better get back to my booth; I think my brothers are getting upset with me,” she suddenly said, as she looked toward them.
To say they were upset would be putting it mildly. A Western male had touched and conversed with their forbidden fruit. Her brothers started scolding her in their native language as soon as we approached their booth. The glare from their evil eyes was a message for me to skedaddle.
I high-tailed it to the bathroom outside the lounge. I figured that was the end of that wonderful little encounter with an Arabian princess.
Darn, she was such a beauty! Oh well, easy come, easy go.
When I came out of the bathroom, there stood Fiza. My face lite up like a fire cracker and my blood pressure spiked as she handed me a slip of paper and whispered in my ear, “Please call me in the morning.”
She then turned and walked back into the disco, leaving me in a trance. I could only stare at the phone number in my sweaty palm as I slowly made my way to my hotel room.
I tossed and turned all night. Couldn’t sleep a wink. I thought morning would never come. I had never before gotten this hot and bothered over someone. Whoa, baby! I was on fire! Or was I playing with fire?
Oh, hell, Tom. Will you stop rationalizing. Just go for it? What have you got to lose, except maybe your nuts, or maybe even your life.
I was adventurous, but I wasn’t faster than a speeding bullet. Still, what the heck, it would be an exciting way to go!
Ok, time to get to sleep.
I tried counting sheep. I twiddled my thumbs. I tried meditating. Nothing worked. I was still wide awake when the sun peeked through the hotel window. Finally, it was time to dial the number she gave me.
Shit, what if she wrote it down wrong?
Jesus! Would you stop thinking and just dial the frickin’ number.
Okay. Okay...
I was shaking like a leaf on a windy day. Don’t know if it was with excitement, or with fear, as I dialed the number. I could hear in my head one of the songs we had danced to the night before: Disco Inferno, burn, baby, burn.
The anticipation was driving me up a wall. Ring- ring.
“Marhaban” (hello), a male voice answered.
Shit, what am I going to say?
My heart was beating a mile a minute. My adrenalin was sky high, so I felt invincible as I worked up the courage to speak.
May I speak with the doll who knocked my socks off last night, was what I started to say. Luckily, reality set in.
“May I speak with Fiza?” I said, in as high pitched a voice as I could muster.
“Just a minute,” he said.
All right! I pulled it off.
“Hello,” said a female voice.
“Fiza?”
“Yes, who is this?”
“It’s Tom. We met last night at the disco.”
“Oh! Hi, Tom. I was wondering if you would call.”
Wondering if I would call? Christ. If only she knew what she had put me through all night long.
During our conversation, she told me she would be taking the bus that afternoon to Cheltenham, where she was attending school. It was a small college town about eighty miles outside London. It was a perfect opening.
“No need to take the bus. I have a rented car and would gladly take you,” I said. “It would give me a chance to see more of the English countryside.”
And maybe see more of that beautiful body, too.
Will she take the bait?
After what seemed an eternity, but in reality was only a couple seconds, she replied, “ That would be nice.”
"YES!" I shouted, as I gave myself a high-five.
She told me where I could pick her up, and we ended our conversation. After I hung up, it suddenly occurred to me: Am I walking into a trap?
There was only one way to find out. No guts, no glory!
She directed me to pick her up at a certain location inside Hyde Park. I circled the area a couple of times to see if anyone else was with her or maybe hiding close by. I was still fearful I might be falling in a trap. Remember, this peach was forbidden fruit that I was trying to pick. My adrenaline defiantly provided a rush and the will to give it a shot.
I finally decided she was alone and pulled up beside her. She was looking just as beautiful as she had the night before. She wore a simple white blouse and painted-on jeans. Her happy smile, electric brown eyes, and seductive perfume erased all my doubts. I could sense she was pleased to see me as well.
During the drive to Cheltenham, we talked a mile a minute. She told me she was studying for an architecture degree and had been living in England for a couple of years. There were no architectural colleges for women in Saudi Arabia, so she had convinced her father to send her to England to further her education. Apparently, she had daddy wrapped around her little finger. She wasn’t letting her culture prevent her from fulfilling her dream.
Her father had four wives, like mos