Online exhibition of paintings

    from his book Route 777

               a highway beyond the horizon

De Nederlandse versie is ook te leen bij de bibliotheek of te koop en zelfs als E book, bij www.Boekenbestellen.nl

The English translation is under construction and soon to be published as an E book.

This autobiography has several 'stages or tokens' of remembrance like once the people of Israel raised twelve stones as a monument when they passed through the Jordan River. Isn't a blessing to recall what God has done in our lives?

        If you want to continue reading, as a proofreader, please contact me,                     Maurits.Tompot@gmail.com

                                      Stage 1  Indonesia

The maid or baboe Attemie brought me into the room with the rattan chairs. She cleared her throat loudly, saying, 'Saya Puan, here I am Ma'am!' Mother, startled, looked up with furrowed brows from behind the pedal sewing machine and saw the servant wide-eyed with the index finger in front of her mouth and with the other, she pointed to the bottom of the curtain, where a two man’s brown feet protruded. Without any hesitation, mother grabbed a pair of scissors from one of the unfolded blades and yanked the curtain aside. The burglar was so shocked that fled. Mother pulled me towards herself and lifted me up and sobbing with fright, I asked, why the Javanese man was hiding there’. Trembling, she shook her head and sighed, 'It is okay Mauki, he will never come back again!’ I didn't understand, our garden boys were often hidden among the pisang or banana trees.

A few months later, Tuan or Mr Tompot was threatened by his chauffeur in the driveway to the garage. At gunpoint, father was forced to hand over the keys to his jeep.

Sukarno, the President of the new Republic, wanted to liberate Indonesia from foreigners and therefore intimidation and burglaries were increasing.

After father's long urging, mother Tompot and her children embarked on the Willem Ruys at the end of 1958. I was six years old, Jonneke was eight and sister Jolanthe four. Black and white photographs show father waving at us, standing in his white shirt and shorts on the quay of Tandjong Priok. Mother used her white handkerchief also to dab her tear-filled eyes. Would they see each other again? Jonneke was waving with his white plaster cast arm. I can still hear the crack when he broke his wrist falling off the swing a few weeks prior to leaving Djakarta. At the sight of mother's tears, I asked why dad was not going with us to Holland. ‘He still has business to settle before he comes by airoplane, as soon as possible.’

After the big ropes were thrown loose, the ship was towed by a tug boat and the horn blared so loudly that my body trembled. Later on colour films with the rattling sound, we saw images of sun-drenched Singapore, flying fish on the ocean, Port Saïd and the Suez Canal.

As tropical children, we always walked on bare feet and passing Gibraltar, we had to wear shoes that pinched our feet. The woollen clothes, with the smell of camphor, itching terribly.

                                        Stage  2  Holland

In the middle of the winter, the Tompot family arrived in Holland. Steam clouds escaped from my mouth and an icy white powder made my hands tingle. The house at Midden Geestweg No. 7 in Bergen, North Holland, had now been rented for six months. The smell of coal from the smoking chimneys and the chirp of seagulls, still remind me today of that period. 

At the white-painted van Reenen school, the personality a tall Dutch teacher, Ms Schermerhorn, deeply impressed me. Everything in Holland was thorough and by appointment. I wanted to become a veterinarian as I liked to play on the farm of my friend Maarten. Days later, my clothes would still smell sour from cows and hay.

At the end of the Midden Geestweg, we could enter the large forest where gnomes were supposed to sit on red and white toadstools. Fortunatly as an imaginative boy I stayed within the limits of decency.

In the evening, all children from the neighbourhood would gather on the street to play. Even the lovely daughters of art painter Karel Colnot who lived next door in that mysterious house hidden between the huge trees. joined us. On Wednesday afternoons, we experienced the magic of watching television at a neighbour's house. Even to the end, as the image disappeared from the screen into a white dot that slowly died away, it remained magically spectacular.

After returning from Indonesia, father was allowed to choose from various surrounding countries to set up a new timber trade for the Utrecht company. For the next seven years we would stay in Vilvoorde in Flanders, Belgium.

        The sea  doesn't learn you to swim                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           sold  

                                             Stage 3  Belgium

In Vilvoorde was no forest or beach. We lived in the narrow Frans Geldersstraat at No. 27 above the office of Treetex Acoustics. Behind our house,  a large coal factory spewed out its smelly steam every ten minutes and our new playground extended from the dark basement to the high-walled restricted space of the courtyard. Here, children never played on the streets and I became homesick, missing the beauty of Bergen. It caused my belly to ache.

Father was busy setting up a new business with only one typist/secretary and four representatives arriving every Saturday morning. Together with dad, they smoked until his office was a blue haze.

I still remember how father took me to the new school wearing his brown raincoat. In a room with barely any daylight there were about thirty Flemish-speaking children. After his departure, I felt displaced and cried, but at the same time I was ashamed. The teacher asked what was wrong and I made up a story that my sandal was pinching. He knelt down and unfastened my footwear, but the tears kept flowing. This gentleman of the first class and the one of the sixth, were the only normal teachers, at least in my opinion. The other masters had strange characteristics, like the 'Bolle' of the fourth. He had been in the army for a long time and he only let us march in the gym, left, right, left, right. He punished by making you kneel on a square cookie tin at the front of the class. Balancing on your kneecaps was the least painful, otherwise the sharp edges of the box would cut into your shins. I managed to bribe the Bolle with boxes of cigars, 'smuggled' out of father's client gift drawer. Mr. Donville of the fifth grade had a hunchback and we called him 'Don Quixote'. In the back of the classroom he gave me a lukewarm slice of his mandarin every day and yet he would hit my fingers with a steel ruler if I was naughty.

My brother Jon and I were the only Protestant children to receive special religious education. To this end, a certain Mr. De Lange travelled weekly by tram 58 from Brussels to teach us separately from each other. The red-haired Jewish Simeon was taught by a rabbi, and for the rest of the class, a Priest would come in his black cassock with the white collar. Bible stories fascinated me very much and as a private pupil, I was always allowed to ask questions. 'Sir, how did all the animals fit into Noah's Ark?'

Well, Mauki, only one pair of butterflies, one pair of ducks or dogs were allowed. Not all species and I think that the Lord sent little giraffes, elephants, and hippos to the ark.'

I kept mice in the basement myself and asked how Noah and his three sons and wives could feed all the animals and clean the pens. Mr. De Lange suggested a simple year of hibernation.

After the exciting adventures of David, his son Solomon was featured. 'Sir, how could the wise King Solomon become unwise?'

'Wisdom is a person, Mauki. If you stray from Him, you also lose wisdom. Do you understand?' Yes I did, because once on Vlieland while swimming in the sea, I  wandered away from father, who was able to pull me out of the strong current just in time. Many Bible stories were difficult to believe, such as Abraham's sacrifice. How could God ask a father to do such a thing?

'You have  to  wait until the Easter holidays to hear the answer. Now let 's look at my stamp collection, I have almost complete stamp collection of Israel, Also a number African countries with wild animals.' Carefully, with tweezers, treasures emerged behind transparent paper sheets.

Every Sunday mother drove us to the Protestant Church in Brussels, where she hoped to meet other Dutch expats. I expienced the Sunday school classroom cold and dull. Father always stayed at home and peeled potatoes while the radio spewed out football results that sounded like formulas to me, NAC, ADO, Ajax or Heracles.

Sunday afternoons were the highlight of the week when the family walked in the surrounding nature reserves such as Hofstade, Grimbergen and Tervuren. Father taught us how to bird watch and he would later even buy a holiday bungalow near a bird sanctuary. Yet the seagulls there screeched less exuberantly than in Bergen or on Vlieland, where we celebrated the summer holidays in a holiday bungalow 'Jolly Day'.

During the journey to the Wadden Island, which seemed like a world trip, we spent the night in the windy village, called Huisduinen, where most fences were crooked. We slept on rubber air mattresses and the next morning we drove over the endless Afsluitdijk to distant Friesland. In Harlingen we felt like being abroad with a the Frisian or German languages. The rocking boat, surrounded by a cloud of seagulls, carried us to 'the edge of the world'.

When father's timber trade flourished, a villa with a spacious court was rented on the Elewijtse Steenweg in Eppegem. Further along the cobblestone road, towards the Rubens Castle, a piece of land would later be purchased for a model house to show the various types of wood of his business. After moving to Eppegem, we, the tough Dutch boys had to cycle to school in Vilvoorde through all sorts of weather.

In the first class of the secondary school, Latin and later Greek was taught. I liked learning because as the best student in the class you came into an exciting competition with official award ceremonies and on such occasions the laureates wore a smart jacket, white shirt and a tie.

In Eppegem I felt almost as happy as in Bergen. My potatoes, radishes, carrots and strawberries were growing in a part of our huge garden. I had rabbits grazing in a homemade, movable, spacious run, which kept the lawn tidy. The village butcher gave me money for the mature animals that made me nauseous because of their big frightened eyes when I handed them over. My sadness disappeared while romping in the meadows around the Rubens Castle. I secretly smoked my first wooden pipe at the end of the Steenweg. Christiane lived there and she already looked more than grown up at tha ge of sixteen. She was even ready for a new set of teeth like her brother or parents had gotten at an early age. I have often told Ed, her brother, not to give his rabbits cow parsley, because hardly eating it, they lost weight and died.

One day after school, we arrived at Christiane's house and the outside door stood wide open. Inside, all the cupboards were opened and the contents were scattered all over the floor. Fearing burglars, I wanted to flee, as they might still be upstairs, but Christiane bravely picked up the phone and called the police and her parents. Since that time, I will always warn people to be carefull with their properties.

Curiosity about the female sex was arousing, all the more so because boys and girls were separated in Belgian schools. That summer I was building huts in the dunes on Vlieland a German bright blonde girl, Heidi.

Sold Copy J.H. Weissenbruch

During the laying of the foundation for the model home, unexspectalty baby Rudy was born. Life smiled at us. The beautiful Pentecost weekend of 1966, was spent with the family of Koos, father's eldest brother from Huisduinen. I proudly showed my young crow 'Sesam' to everyone and said that I had taken the bird from an 'abandoned' nest with another young one for my friend Jos Bolsens. Father doubted the truth and asked me, 'How do you know that the nest was abandoned, Mauk?'

'We didn't see the parents anywhere.'

Father shook his head with a grimace and with the arrival of the black birds, ominous clouds gathered above the horizon of the Tompot and Bolsens families.

The Pentecost weekend was still sunny and lent itself to balles on lawn and badminton. We made cousin Rob laugh again while peeling the mountain of peanuts on the kitchen table. Rob screeched so infectiously that everyone kept laughing. With this cousin I would later spend many holidays in Switzerland when everything had changed.

The night after the family left, father felt pressure on his chest. The doctor from Zemst arrived and diagonist the flu. He advised a week of rest and father asked; 'Is it not my heart?' After all, grandpa and grandma had recently died of heart failure. Father led a sedentary existence, smoking two packets of Lexington a day. 

After a week's rest, father left for the office on Monday morning and the first thing he would do, was to sign the life insurance papers for the new house. That simple signature would determine the future of mother and her four children.

 In the course of that bright spring day, a black car arrived in front of the white fence of our driveway. A man in a black suit got out and stepped on the gravel path. Little Rudy stood in front of the window with his toes in the nylon net of the playpen. Suddenly, my mother grabbed my hand and pulled me towards the front. She trembled as the man continued to speak. Soon she started to weep. Something very bad must have happened and I wanted to flee, run up the stairs, but mother held me until the minister was inside.

Later it turned out that father had died of a heart attack and we children never saw him again, nor attended the funeral in Huisduinen. I kept hoping that Dad was in Sweden on business, but the green Opel Record never drove into the yard again. The father of my friend Jos also died during the same year and Sesam, the crow, got lost on holiday on Vlieland.

Three months later, our neighbor Uncle Hein also developped chest pressure at night and the village doctor made the same diagnosis. After he left, neighbour Maria knocked on our door in a panic. Mother immediately called an ambulance and Uncle Hein barely survived. He was still given time to sign the life insurance papers. Three years later he died and Aunt Maria was able to continue living in her beautiful bungalow.

Buttermilk canal

At the weekends there were performances by soul bands in surrounding villages and with my red five gear Garelli, I easily passed my friends on their black Puchs or Tomos, all equipped with high handlebars and round rear lights. Later I tinkered with antique motorcycles such as the Hercules, Panther and the Indian Scout as the absolute top. I fell in love with the matt red vehicle that emerged from under the straw like scrap metal in a gardeber shed. I covered the bare saddle with new weather in the handwork class at school and for a front light I drove to Amsterdam or for a rear light I made it to Rotterdam. I became a member of a unique international club of Indian Scout owners and I cherished my bike as a treasure. How foolish can a man be to fall in love with a piece of rusty metal? My hard-working mother got annoyed with me and literally kicked me down the stairs, screaming, "Get out of my house and don't come back unless you have a proper job!'

As an eighteen-year-old, I was on the street and where was I supposed to go? The library provided me with a dry and warm place where I could browse the newspapers for advertisements. That same day, I managed to get a job as an apprentice photographer in Rotterdam. Triumphantly, I came home and told mother about my future workplace.

The long days in the dark room with the chemical odours started to oppress me, especially when the owner started to visit me in the evenings, coming too close to me.  During the coffee breaks in the photo studio, I went through the newspaper ads again and found a travel agency which was looking for catering staff in a mansion in Austria. That same afternoon I was invited to meet the director and I showed up apologizing for my faded denim suit. To my great surprise I got the job within fifteen minutes.

                                      Stage 5  Austria

On April 30, 1970, I boarded in Rotterdam an almost empty coach with the Brand couple Brand and a twenty-year-old chambermaid, named Anja. The driver took us to the lovely manner Luisenheim, perfectly situated along the lake of Millstatt. The Brands' had a Rotterdam accent and Anja a Zeelandic-Flemish accent. Mr Brand was scrawny and constantly walking his little dog to smoke cigars and his voluminous wife had the strange habbit to lift her heavy bosom all the time with both hands.

To the right of the impressive stairs towards the garden I found a room full of garden furniture. Except for one chair and a table, I put everything outside on the terrace and set up my domicile inside. Every morning when I woke up, the lake sparkled and birds gave a impressif concert. I sniffed the fresh air and in the kitchen I was welcomed by the smell of the fresh Kaiserbrötchen, delivered by the Austrian baker, who spoke a strange  kind of German. Some villagers were still dressed in lederhosen or ladies in dirdnl with enchanting cleavages. Once, a woman came to apply for a job as a waitress in this dress while her cleavage was shining with sweat and black hairs were poking between her breasts. Obviously she didn't get the job. Nevertheless, the ultimate feeling of happiness I experienced in Bergen or Vlieland  bubbled up again. I found my destiny.

To drive the winter cold out of the large rooms, I chopped wood for the large tiled stoves and helped Anja with making beds in the many rooms. The newly arrived tour guide was also called Anja and she asked me for assistance in exploring the many taverns around Millstätter See. Although she was ten years older, we soon dreamed of renting the lovely empty castle at the bottom of the lake for the next tourist season.

While the first hotel guests arrived, I operated as a bellboy and then put on a white jacket to be the waiter at dinner and bartender in the evenings. The next morning I helped serve breakfast and I worked as a gardener. Thanks to father's Rolleiflex camera I had a professional appearance, photographing the hotel guests during the afternoons or evenings. During my free time I rested on a desolate jetty in the sun on the other side of the lake. A blonde, Austrian girl appeared there as well and she, Gaby had the most beautiful blue eyes, surrounded by dark eyelashes and eyebrows. She didn't know how ferociously attractive she was in her self-crocheted bikini. As a future teacher, she did holiday work as a waitress in the imposing Schlossvilla mansion.

On my free evenings, Anja and I invited hotel guests for a tour along the Kneipen or wooden bars which were very cozy. The lights of the grand and mundane taverns along the lake twinkled on the terraces. The view was fabulous like in a fairy land and so was my life, but as in fairy tales, witches appear to stop all the happiness.

My mother settled down for the summer holidays at a campsite in Döbriach at the end of the Millatat lake and under her wings a large family followed. I didn't know about the secret contact she had had with the management of the travel agency i worked for, to terminate my employment. To be safe, brother Jon had to find a summer job in my vicinity so that I would return at the end of the season. He indeed saw an opportunity to become a driver on a VW van in the same hotel where Gaby served as a waitress. He knew German far better than I did and a strong competitor had arrived. She would have to make a choice between two brothers. 

At the campsite, drinking coffee, mother suddenly told me that I had to return home in three weeks time. Totally surprised, I asked who decided that.

'It's better that you go back to school.'

 'I have a contract that has to be fulfilled.'

'It's already been arranged with the agency in Rotterdam and with Mr Brand.!'

Rotterdam and the Brands'? What, behind my back?'

'Trust me, it is better to have a degree.'

I felt so cheated that I wanted to swear very loudly, but I behaved. I got up and left the campsite cursing. Something had and I heard mother say in the distance: 'Oh, he will get over it.'

I was devastated, because not only my plan to travel with the staff to Kitzbühel for the winter season fell apart, but also the contact with Gaby and the future summer season with Anja. I enjoyed the tourist industry and how ironic that I would later end up in this similar sector after long detours.

Back in Luizenheim, I looked for my passport to escape, but later I discovered that mother had given it to Mr. Brand's for safekeeping. The bus driver would it hand over to me upon arrival in the Netherlands.

Gaby was the only one who comforted me. 'In a few years you'll be free to see me in Austria!'

I said goodbye to both Anja's but not  to the couple who were part of mother's plot.

                             Stage 6  the Netherlands

In a coach full of departing hotelguests, I drove back to the Netherlands where I soon had to sit in the school desks once again. I was terribly bored among the young kids and I felt myself sinking into a swamp of inward rage. Mother took the introverted, depressed pupil to the doctor who couldn't get anything out of me in the fifteen minutes of consultation and he gave me valium. I behaved like Hamlet and the step to more drugs was small. An old schoolmate, John Streefkerk was dealing drugs. As persona non grata he was also kicked out of he same grammar school and now lived as a hippie-squatter in Breda. During the weekends, I rode my motorcycle up to him and got very stoned.

In high school I met Ton and Theo, handsome guys of my age with the same interest in literature. We operated as hosts in two cinemas in Gouda, constantly changing shifts to watch all the films for free, like Woodstock or Easy Rider and often I was able to sing along with the soundtrack of the album Steppenwolf.  

‘Born to be wild, get your motor runnin

head out on the highway lookin' for adventure!’

I got along well with both friends, but there was no friendschip between the two of them. For example, I strolled with and our dogs for hours through the polders around Gouda or we sailed in his boat on the Reeuwijkse Lakes. Later, we hitchhiked to France during summer holidays where we dreamed of having our own farm with a campsite. Theo would indeed buy a farm later, without me.

With Ton, who would later become a journalist, I discussed topics from the newspaper, played a lot of chess and hitchhiked also on the Route Soleil. Once, our lives were threatened by a death ride with a driver who had already lost his lower limbs in a previous car accident. He showed with his dangerous driving in his modified car that he had learned nothing from it. At high speed, he raced continuously passing along the notorious French three-lane roads. I constantly shouted, 'Slowly sir, slowly please!'

Anton also screamed in vain and finally I punched the possessed man and yelled at him to stop immediately, 'Arrêtez! Arrêtez au nom de Dieu!'

He slowed down and we got out of the car, trembling.

Years later, on a beautiful day of Pentecost, I hitchhiked to a conference in Vierhouten. The driver who picked me up boasted about his excellent driving style from the start and we flew irresponsibly over the roads of the Veluwe. I demanded that he to slow down. 'What do you mean?' He pushed the gas pedal even deeper and what I feared, happened right after. The car flew out of the curve and floated in the direction of a concrete electricity building. I squeezed my eyes shut for the big crash, but the car, thank God, ended up in a ditch just before the building and bounced back onto the road. I crawled out of the smoking vehicle and the driver shouted over the roof, 'Wasn't that excellent skill?'

I stood there speechless and in shock. He laughed loudly and left with grinding tires. I returned home by public transport, never to hitchhike again.

In the meantime, mother was not pleased at all with my antisocial behavior and arranged a room at 'aunt Alice', an acquaintance from Indonesia who also helped with the State Lottery. Her apartment was on the sixth floor in the most depressing neighborhood of Gouda. Even though I enjoyed her Indian food and she took care of me well, I was constantly skipping school lessons. During the final exams I was stoned by the dope and failed the exams, although I had obtained my car, truck and motorcycle license that same year. In fact, I took revenge on my mother like Hamlet, because she robbed me of my Austrian fairy tale. Now I wanted to leave the Netherlands for ever as soon as possible.

In order to be able to earn a lot of money in a short time, I thought I would reach a high rung on the social ladder as a window cleaner. Eight hours up and down stairs turned out to be a physically demanding job for a twenty-year-old student. It wasn't until the end of each weekend that I came back to my senses. For three months, the boss, by the name of De Slegte, 'the Bad one', oppressed me. He cursed if I dropped a sponge and from day one he claimed that I would never be a good window cleaner. Indeed, I would get more knowledge of the 'Gouda Windows'. Fortunately, I worked those two months with a crazy mate from a gypsy camp in Zwammerdam.

Where was the grass greenest? The kibbutz in Israel seemed to me to be the best social society in the world.

I would buy a cheap, 350 cc, two-stroke Jawa motorcycle, which I could dump in case of failure, but my mother suggested that I should purchase a better bike for safety reasons. Since she would pay, I choose a refurbish, 250 cc one cylinder BMW chopper, built in 1952, the year I was born. The money she gave me felt like some kind of bribery for my robbed happiness, but I remembered that I had narrowly escaped death on Theo's bike. It happened after a weekend at John's place in Breda, when I drove back home with the borrowed bike, heavily stoned. I was just about to overtake a truck with a trailer at 120 km per hour when the rear tire blew. Thanks to the weight of fellow passenger John, the dancing bike stayed on the road and we were able to get straight ahead of the truck and reach the hard shoulder. Even after repairing the tire at a garage, I was still shaking with fright and asked John, even though he didn't have a driver's license, to take over the handlebar in the quiet polders near Moordrecht. While I handed him the vehicle, he was standing on the soft verge. The weight of the hissing Matchless dragged him head first into the ditch.

Very slowly John rose from the duckweed like Hare Krishna and his round glasses looked like green Olympic circles along with  the two bike tires. I helped him clamber to the side and his face surrounded by long hair was like a green crown, showing one big question mark. This sight made me laugh so uncontrollably, finally relaxing my nerves. John couldn’t laugh at all, standing there dripping and smelling like a cesspit. After a kickstart, unexpectedly the engine rattled like an old lion and John, teeth chattering, opted for the seat on the back again. 

At the end of the summer I was ready for my world trip. Ton suddenly wanted to join me to experience the great adventure, although he would have to refuse military service. I had been rejected since a school doctor had told me what to hear and not to hear. 

                                         Stage  7  Anduze 

The big day of our departure arrived and in addition to a waterproof army sleeping bag, Ton had also bought a military helmet. His giant backpack fit exactly on the gas tank and we were waved goodbye like a bunch of village idiots. Sneering from the little guard of honour, my sister asked, "How far is the journey, gentlemen?"

Indeed, just across the border near Antwerp, we already had the first bad luck. There were loud bangs due to afterburning. A Flemish mechanic adjusted the faltering ignition by a quarter turn with his screwdriver, for free.

After Belgium, the sky in France was heavily overcast, but just above us there remained a constant blue corridor as if Providence was kind to us. Riding a motorcycle in the rain could be disastrous and I regarded it as a miracle. Ton did not.

In Paris, a group of old and young people were singing religious songs on the steps of the Sacre Coeur and Ton asked me, ‘Why do these people behave so foolishly? What's the matter with them, do they belong to a sect?’ I had no idea, although it made a deep impression on me. Why were ordinary young people like me, praising God in public?

In a dimly lit park in a suburb of Paris, we rolled out our army sleeping bags and emptied a bottle of red wine for a good night's sleep. Where it seemed so quiet in the park in the evening, we were watched by many citizens who hurried to work in the morning, while we made tea on a small butane gas stove and spreading cheese on a fresh baguette. From then on, we would chose quiet spots in the countryside, where we soaked stale bread in the tea.

We continued our Route du Soleil to Anduze in Southern France, where we stayed in the 'chateau' of our popular religious teacher of the Christian Lyceum. During the mornings, we were weeding in his vineyard until the heat became unbearable. In the afternoons we would swim in the river that meandered through the apricot and peach orchards. In the evening we philosophized until late at night with many litres of wine that I got every other day on my motorcycle at the Cooperative. I filled up the 10-liter jerrycan with the fermented grape juice as if it were petrol.

Our pastor talked a lot about Martin Luther King, Nelson Mandela, Che Guevara and all kinds of famous heroes but in the village we heard about the Man from Nazareth. Anduze was known as one of the few Protestant strongholds in the South of France and that week, young people arrived to do an evangelisatic campaign on the market square. A bunch of boys and girls were singing in public, prepared to look like fools, like those people on the steps of the Basilica. We asked what inspired them to sacrifice their holiday and still looking extremely happy without drinking any wine. What was their secret? They said smiling, 'Jesus est vivant!'

                                                         8 Italy

We traveled to Porquerolles since Vlieland, every island attracts me like a mighty magnet. On the beach we met a young couple who offered us freshly caught fish which they fried on a crackling wood fire. That saved us another meal and at the end of the pleasant evening by the smouldering fire with wine from cardboard cups, this couple told us enthusiastically about Jesus, le Seigneur. That night on the beach, I stared at a clear starry sky and pondered about Jesus who apparently knew how to inspire so many young people.

Next morning we triumphantly toured along the beautiful French Riviera. We often overnighted in the gardens of abandoned villas with magnificent views of the Bay of Monaco, where expensive and illuminated yachts floated. Behind our ramparts of complacency, Ton wondered who was the richest in the country and asked, 'Is not the whole wide world belonging to us!'

Riding on a country road in the warm plains of the Po where the sun was already stting, a sharp tap sounded and the engine stalled. Soon I discovered that there was no more compression in the cylinder and sweating, we had to push the motorcycle in the hope of finding a garage.

Behold, suddenly a Fiat pulled up next to us and through an open door window, a man asked, 'Cosa c'e?' Pointing to the engine block, I replied, 'La mia macchina e rotta'.

This man in blue overalls got out, knelt down by the bike and made the same diagnosis. Without words he took a long rope from his trunk in the front of the car and attached one end to his rear bumper and the other to my steering column. He beckoned Ton to sit next to him in the car and dragged me on the motorbike for a few kilometers on the road. Then we bumped along a dirt road to a large walled farmhouse, where Angelo introduced us to his parents, parents-in-law, grandparents, brothers, nephews, nieces, sisters-in-law and other relatives. He showed us a place to stay on the first floor of an empty house within the farmhouse. It smelled of the dark pigs that walked in and out below.

For dinner we ate macaroni and plenty of Chianti with the whole family in the big warm kitchen. Then Angelo who was about thirty, took us to his garage. The motorcycle was hoisted up with chains and after the cylinder head was disassembled, Angelo showed one of the broken overhead valves that had been knocked through the piston. These parts plus head gasket had to be ordered in Milan. Did we want to wait for that? 'Si, si, prego.' In the mean time we had to enjoy ourselves for a few days on the farm where the exceptional beatiful sisters of our mechanic, were working. Perhaps iAngelo hoped that we were potetial marriage canditates. Unfortunatly these beauties only spoke an Italian dialect. My years of invested knowledge of classical Latin faltered on all sides, although a few years earlier, I had communicated with a beautiful native girl during a holiday job on Lake Garda in Italy.

The engine was neatly repaired, the leaking fuel tank and exhaust pipe welded and as a farewell our 'angel' showed us in the little Fiat the red light district of Milan. Men dressed as women turned out to be the top attraction, which didn't really interest us.

After an extensive breakfast, we got a hearty packed lunch from le sorelle and headed for Venice. It was noticeable that Ton started to spent our household money generously, while a big hole had just been made in our budget. Mr Henzen liked to sit and drink on a terrace in Venice and buy expensive newspapers while we were barely halfway. The next evening, lying in a beautiful mountain meadow, Tom suddenly became 'homesick'. His 'planned holiday' was over and later it turned out that his military service time had arrived. My boyfriend who had promised to go on a trip around the world had lied. I felt betrayed and was angry but didn't want to show it. To attack him and touch him the most, was by reacting nonchalantly as if our friendship had never existed. 'Okay, I'll drop you off tomorrow morning at the highway and then you can hitchhike home.' I turned over as if I wanted to sleep. Next morning I dumped Ton at the highway and drove on without looking back. Instead of being sad or depressed, unexpectedly, a feeling of freedom tingled on me. Free at last! With the yellow helmet buckled to the sissibar, I whizzed in delight along the winding roads along the rocky coastline. My hair fluttered in the warm wind and I loudly sang the song of Steppenwolf from the movie Easy Rider,

'I can climb so highI never wanna die

Born to be wild

Head out on the highway

Lookin' for adventure’

                                                     9  Athens

In former Yugoslavia, the landscape became more rugged. Gypsy children begged for money and they pelted me with stones since I refused to stop. Due to hypothermia and exhaustion, I skidded twice on the almost impassable mountain roads. One time I balanced on the crankcase on a boulder at the edge of a gaping ravine. The euphoria of the newly won freedom faded in the looming fog.

For the night, I took cover behind a fence in a small forest as it began to drizzle. Shivering from the cold, I heard in addition to the steady dripping, a sudden rustling and snorting, interspersed with the creaking of branches. The ground trembled and expected an attack of a great beast.

At the crack of dawn I had finally dozed off, until a huge cow's head loomed above me. With a near heart-attack I appreciated this beastly gesture as a funny greeting from Providence.

Descending into Greece was like sliding into a hot bath. At the poste restante in Athens I found in addition to letters from the family, one from Ton. Apparently, he wanted to make amends by meeting my brother, a KLM steward, who flew to Athens. Indeed, a meeting took place in front of the Parthenon on the Acropolis. Dressed in jeans covered with oil stains, I followed the steward through the chic foyer of the Hilton Hotel. In his suite. on behalf of his brother, he gave me 25 guilders and I learned that Ton's luggage had already been stolen that morning on the highway where I dumped him. In addition, Ton the holidaymaker had arrived just too late for his military service and he had to wait a long time until the next intake. After a luxurious bath, I put back on my smelly jeans that I had 'washed' and bleached in the sun on a deserted campsite, along the coast outside Athens. The trousers were stiff as leather, which many motorcyclists prefer.

In this idyllic yet lonely place, I spent the nights in the company of a large black dog covered in ticks around her eyes. I gave her some food in exchange for feeling safe during the dark hours.

Every day a beautiful blonde arrived as she was dropped off at this place by two gentlemen in an expensive limousine. The car remained parked at a distance and the full-figured girl looked like the daughter of a wealthy shipping magnate. Unfortunately, she only spoke Greek and I still wander what she saw in me, a filthy roover. I sniffed her expensive perfume during the rides on the motorcycle and the gentle touch of her breasts against by back aroused me. It hoped to get rid of the black limousine through the narrow streets of the villages along the coast but I always brought her back to the shore on time, where she was once again collected. 

An old Greek fisherman with white hair and dark eyes also visited this spot daily. As a former immigrant from America, he spoke English very well and I asked him if he knew the book of Ernest Hemingway, 'The old man and the sea'. It was required reading for my school list. Yes and he also loved tuna fishing. He shared his lunch of fresh bread with goat-cheese, olives and tomatoes. For hours I enjoyed the conversation with this wise old man, who mentioned at the end, 'Before I forget to tell you, in downtown Athens you can donate your blood and get well paid for it.' 

My first blood donation, in a not very clean environment, gave me free refreshments and money to buy a ticket for the ferry from Piraeus to Haifa on September 21, 1972.

During the crossing to the Promised Land, the light was bright as if something sacred was about to happen. On the large deck of this boat, there was always a fresh breeze and watching the seagulls from my sleeping bag, I was a homeless drifter with no money, but happy. I challenged a Thai girl to play chess on my little folding board and as I kept checkmating her, she always had to treat with some tasty food. I tried to trace her motives as to why she was paying me so much attention while she was too pretty and decent for me.

‘Why do you play chess with me?’

Smiling, she pointed to the king's piece on the chessboard, ‘ The Master Chessplayer is the King of the universe and He wants you to be His friend.’

‘Sorry, my dear, this comes a bit out of the blue, please explain.’

'The King of Kings is also the Man of Sorrows, who gave His life for you...' Furthermore, the content escaped me

completely

because I was  obsessed with her pure beauty. Nothing marred her, I could not discover a single flaw in her appearance. In addition to a perfect figure, her long shiny hair framed her intelligent face with the large eyes. When she spoke, always smiling, she showed perfect teeth. Her hushed voice had a sexy oriental accent and this delightful creature smelled of spikenard but as she came, she flitted away like a butterfly. 

At the end of that day, I was standing at the railing as the ship approached the port of Rhodes. Coincidentally, I saw her disembark. On the quay, there in the crowd, she turned around and waved at me with a white scarf. How did she know I was watching her? Three more times she turned around and waved exuberantly. I was deeply moved and wondered if she was some kind of an angel or alien?

That night I gazed at the brilliant starry dome and pondered her words. Why would the Creator of the vast universe want to be my friend? Why me, an insignificant ant boy in a human heap?

After leaving Cyprus, a woman's voice could be heard among the travellers, speaking English with a Dutch accent. The young woman had a rotund figure, short light brown hair and an androgenic face, looked at me whith sparkling eyes. Her name was Hannie who studied medicine in Groningen and she was looking for a kibbutz. Before disembarking in Haifa, I made a deal with her, willing to take her to a suitable kibbutz if she would pay for the gasoline and food. I entered the Holy Land with only ten guilders. 

The Israeli customs officers asked if I had enough money to leave the country. I  pointed to my motorcycle but the port officials shook their heads disdainfully, considering the vehicle too dilapidated. They wanted to see money. Like a blind passenger, I searched in my pockets in vain. The men grew impatient as I was holding up the stream of travelers. AS they wanted to set me aside for the return trip, Hannie stepped forward with a flapping bundle of traveller's cheques.

                                             10   Israel

On September 24, we set foot in the Holy Land and her backpack fit exactly on the gas tank again. We headed south along the coast with Mediterranean smells washing over us like warm waves of the sea. For a place to sleep we chose the beach at Hadera, where two turtle doves cooed in a palm tree. The spot seemed very romantic until a coconut dropped down next to my head. We shifted our sleeping bags further down towards the beach and during sunset, I began to feel like King Solomon. Hannie's mischievous eyes sparkled like diamonds before the rushing surf that rhythmically cored with the concert of the cicadas in the dunes. The moon should have stood still, as the sun once did for Joshua.

In the morning we left for Tel Aviv where Hannie knew an immigrant Dutch couple who bred chinchillas. We stayed there for two nights on the scullery floor and heard about the harsh life of the average Jewish immigrant. The couple recommended Ginossar as the best kibbutz, beautifully situated along the Sea of Galilee. Kibbutzim were popular among globetrotters and the volunteers were happy to come and help build the country. Everywhere you could taste the positive atmosphere of a pioneer state in the making. We drove through the holy land, which smelled of cedars, eucalyptus, pine trees and the citrus groves full of oranges, lemons or grapefruit.

In Ginossar they asked me and my fellow passenger about our marital status, which could not be substantiated. I had to share a room with a young Japanese guy called Akihiko. The next morning he brought me to work in the banana jungle where sturdy kibbutzniks with large machetes chopped off heavy bunches of bananas and we had to slog on your back through the mud to a trailer which was pulled by a tractor.

To be continued...

Sea of Galilea                                                  sold

I entered Israel with only ten guilders and a motorbike, but to

leave the country, I needed money.

I could work as a bit player in the movie 'Jesus Christ

Superstar' and finally found work on a construction site in

Eilat. After two months, I had enough money to travel and I

attempted to ride around the Sinai.

Halfway I was stranded without petrol and strangely enough I

felt peace in the vast expanse of the desert.

I prayed for the second time in my life.

 Triple peace

Stage 6

I ended up in a monastery in Galilea but in my search for

truth, I didn't find it. Being a hippie, I wondered if I could find

truth in India. If not, I would travel to Australia, start a

weed plantation to enjoy life.

 Family Lane

In Rishikesh I ran out of money and fell ill. I prayed for

the third time to the God of Israel.

Could He hear me in India as well?

Peter and Dorothy Lane, like the good Samaritans, took me

into their home for seven weeks, free of charge.

They told me the good news...

Eureka

Stage 7   Eureka 

I found what I was looking for. Truth turned out to be a Person

who said 'Seek ye first my Kingdom and my righteousness

and I will give you everything'. I asked, 'Everything?'

I made a deal with the God of Israel, who's name is

Jesus. He would bring me to Australia.

First, I had to return to the Netherlands and like the prodigal

son, I came home. I wanted to know everything about

the bible and started a three year course at the Bible College

in Doorn.

Mother was very proud that her son finally attained a degree

as a bible teacher.

I taught for one year waiting till my girlfriend Yvonne finished

her studies at the same college one year later. We both

had a calling to go to Israel.

The taching at several schools was overwhelming, causing

me to neglect Yvonne which ruined our relationship.

Yvonne in Norway

Stage 8

Feeling forsaken I wanted to be free and became a courier to

smuggle bibles from Vienna to Eastern Europe.

The calling for Israel became stronger...

 Gipsy in Romania, sold                                           sold

Stage 9   

I could not resist the calling and flew to Tel Aviv.

Outside Lod Airport I was waiting for a divine message or a

messenger, but nothing happened.

 Pray for the peace of Jerusalem...

Stage 10  

The Bible Centre in Jerusalem needed a courier to distrubute

Old and New Testament Bibles to all the kibbutzim in Israel,

which would take three months.

Yvonne arrived in Jerusalem and I believed everything

between us was fine now since we were reunited again, but

she wanted me to wait for one year.

When the mission was accomplished, I found an empty bible

shop in Tel Aviv and I was very interrested in acquiring the

premisses to combine the shop with an art gallery.

Permission for this, I had to go to London.

Finally the British Society who owned the place, required a born Jew and although I was reborn, my circumcision of the heart was not sufficient for the Society.

 Stage 11 - Painting

Back in the Netherlands I started to organise exhibitions and

at a certain moment, I could fly to the United States for only one guilder if I was on stand by. I felt free to satisfy my travel fever making a trip through America and Canada .

In a camper on Vancouver Island I painted 'Communion'. 

    Communion, sold                                                                                                                                                             

Stage12 

When I returned home, Yvonne went to the USA and I

decided not to wait any longer.

At an evangelical theater I met Marianne, a beautifull former

hippy. She advised me to apply for the position of verger at

her church, the Saint John's in Gouda.

After we married, I also taught part-time bible lessons in

public schools again and Marianne took over the work in

the tourist shop of the Saint John's.

Finally I was appointed as the custiodian and guide in one of

the most beautiful monuments in the Netherlands. 

I discovered the enormous influence of Desiderius Erasmus

on the Gouda Windows and wrote the book 'The Secret of

Erasmus'. Later followed 'Costly Discoveries', Route

777 and 'Shakespeare is Here', which will soon be published

in English.

The 'Secret of Erasmus' is translated in German and English

The Gouda Windows are like a bible in glass and the secret of

this collection are the original cartoons or drawings. 

You can also compare the Old Testament like the

cartoons of the New Testament. What you read in 'black and

white' in the Old Testament, you can admire in the New

Testament 'in color'.

For example, like the prophet Jonah was three days and

three nights in the belly of the fish, so would the Son of

Man be three days and three nights in the belly of the earth.

( Was Jesus buried on a Thursday instead of Friday?)

Stage 13 

The title of the Painting 'Ni-Shalem' forms the crown on Jesus' head, meaning,  'It is accomplished or Shalom, Peace ' !

Sold                                                 

Solar Eclipse

Erasmus understood that the gospel is foolishness to them

who don't believe and he wrote the bestseller, 'Praise of

the Folly'. The Erasmus window in the Saint John's should

contain smileys or be placed in Cinema Gouda :-)

On Silly Saturday we celebrate Erasmus' birthday and I

made a new logo for Gouda with the quote of Erasmus,

'Homo Bulla', (man is like a bubble) 

Say or © Gouda Cheese  (copyright or right to copy?)

During lectures in South Africa, we spotted wild life

and during lectures in Australia, we saw the painting of

Hendrick Van Vliet, hanging in the National Gallery

in Melbourne. Due to Jos van der Biezen, there is a

remake in the Gouda Church now.

I had to be in a hospital bed looking upwards, to realise

that God had finally brought me to Australia.

He kept His Word and I had forgotten...shame on me !

Daughter Joelle showing the painting of Van Vliet                                                                                                                                         Jos van der Biezen made a copy

Is Maurits Tompot now a pensioner or an easy rider in Total

Surrender?

Aleph-Taf

During lectures in America, we learned about The True Statue

of Liberty 

and since I have learned how to swim in the ocean of His

Love, He still performs miracles every day.

Is it a miracle that I present this to you right now or is it

coincidence?

Next time I would like to present to you the secret of

the Pyramid of

Gizeh.

Video in Dutch:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vSZs8mpeGxs&t=12s

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GlZ72b_dOSo&feature=emb_share&fbclid=IwAR2T134lnKjmPNiYPauTKtDB69PAGa8OSezI_kG4-Bl5qoyInBbWedhQPjY

Please share the good news and thanks for your interest.

Shalom!