Hubert Schaub

Alias re-vitalises his passion for time travel. He kick-starts his dusty time machine and lands in the ‘Book of Genesis’. God says: “Let there be light”; and there was light. A month later, the Devil sends him a ‘trillion dollar’ power bill. Well, it ain’t cheap to light up the earth and all the planets and stars for a whole month. Considering the price of coal was at an all-time high, add carbon tax and GST, the hellfire power station wasn’t making much profit.

Alias moves the forward lever on the dashboard, rattles through the ages when suddenly, his time machine stops abruptly. He calls the inter-era helpline and is placed number 3050700000000 in the queue, which is quite reasonable considering the enormous time-span between Genesis and the Apocalypse.

Fortunately, the breakdown happened in a time-warp, so the wait for service allows just for a comfortable ‘power nap’. Repairs done, Alias hits the accelerator and soon lands in 2084. The whole earth is now governed by the Sino-Russian ‘Rouge States Union’, under the brutal rule of ‘Ivan Ping Pong’, ‘the terrible’. Alias learns that the free world had been trying in vain to prevent this from happening, using strong words of condemnation to fend off missiles and chemical weapons. He wanders the spy-camera lined streets and falls into one of the many potholes. Bleeding and in pain, he lies there for many hours before help arrives. The sun descents below the horizon, as the conscripted paramedics in their shabby uniforms, carry Alias several kilometers to a run-down, rat ridden medical tent. Surgery is postponed indefinitely, because ‘Ivan Ping Pong’ has offended his ally the Devil, whose fiddle he had previously danced to. In response the devil turned off the power supply. Alias regrets having left his time machine, while he visualizes his escape to a better world. His day-dream is interrupted, when a government official orders Alias to prey to the two highest Gods of the empire, Vladimir and Xi. When he refuses, he is brutally beaten to death by three secret service agents.

At heaven’s gate, he fails a ‘Covid Test’, and is placed into isolation on a dark cloud at the end of a queue of millions. He can but dream of his time machine.

Continued from ‘The New Model’ posted on 22nd October 2017
Trying to renew my annual Taekwondo Club Registration, I was recently confronted with the confusion of yet another ‘New Model’. It turns out, our national association has outsourced management.
During the transition process, the new management-platform failed to recognise my extensive ‘prior learning’ or experience, which is predominantly the intellectual property of older members. This is nothing short of ‘Age Discrimination’, ironically happening at a time when some new ‘anti-discrimination’ bill was about to be passed in parliament.
Following a three month first aid course at high school many years ago, which I passed with a straight ‘A’, I have done countless, fully accredited refresher courses. During my first 15 years of teaching Martial Arts, I was one of the very few instructors that had first aid qualifications. Now, my membership renewal was rejected, on grounds of my expired first aid certificate, which I was unable to renew during the peak of the COVID pandemic, as did many other instructors. After we were reassured this will be accommodated for, by means of an extended time frame for renewal, the ‘New Model’ refused to comply. Having now updated my first aid credentials, my other inquiries remain unanswered by the relevant authorities.
Requests for clarity on weird and confusing ‘New Model’ rules have traditionally been met with an intriguing ‘Total Silence’, rivalled only by the publishing industry.
It appears, another unrealistic, complex ‘New Model’ has infiltrated the sports. It is a rigid, uncompromising,
de-humanising system, transparently with the commercialisation of sport at its core. As it happens, sport is already over-commercialised, leaving little or no room for the needs and wellbeing of the individual, especially when it comes to ‘Mental health’.
To save myself drowning in the senseless complexity of the new model, I have now arranged for my club/school to operate independently.
The ‘expert’ creators of new models often assert simplicity as the basis of their platform. Little do they realise that it is simple only for them, within the sphere of their virtual expertise, far removed from the real world.
“Experts on the loose can be dangerous”.

Dear readers, thank you sincerely for reading my blogs throughout the year, also for your highly appreciated ‘likes’, ‘shares’, and all the profound, encouraging, and often courageously written and verbal comments on my ‘frequently politically incorrect’ blogs.
Authors are now encouraged to have their work audited for political correctness, by ‘sensitivity readers’ in case anyone may take offence to our verses or words, such as ‘Christmas’. I believe’ to comply with this, would be morally incorrect and an assault on free speech and sanity.
Christmas is about truth and salvation, embodied in the birth of Christ. “The truth is offensive only to those who don’t seek it”.
On this note, I like to wish you a wonderful Christmas, whether you are a Christian or not. May your prayers be answered, your visions and hopes be fulfilled in the new year, whether it be the solar, lunar, or any other year.

In perspective, here are a few humble questions and messages for those who want ‘their’ climate back.
“Exactly what climate do you want back”? The ice ages, temperate ages, or perhaps the transition ages? Would you prefer to have the Sahara covered in rainforest again while central Europe is an arid land?
We have adapted to climatic and geological changes since we were ‘one-cellers’, and we are still here. Are you telling us that we should stop adapting and rather try and halt the processes of nature and evolution, which we are part of?
Presently, the human species, almost religiously cultivates pressing, high speed changes to art, technology, fashion trends and even of partners/spouses. Hardly a day goes by without changes or updates to the internet, banking, insurance policies or legislation. Opinions and personal interests, tastes and preferences from the political to nutrition, medicine, art, sport etc. keep changing like the weather. Yet ironically, you want the climate to stagnate?
Evolution and life itself are the product of change and adaptation. Quite simply, if it wasn’t for geological and climatic changes, life on earth would not exist, in fact we wouldn’t even have made it to be one-cellers.
Clearly, we have a pollution problem and much needs to be done. Let’s not ignore the fact that much has already been done and much work is in progress. Every time I travel, I am surprised by the enormous presence of private and commercial wind and solar farms, wherever I go. Let’s not ignore the fact that the electrification of cars, ships and even aircraft is well in progress, so is the clean-up and recycling of waste. Tree farms are a fast-growing business. Those facts are largely drowned out by the screams of ignorant, doomsday prophetical campaigners who instigate ill-informed young people to sacrifice some of their education, in support of their campaigns. A lack of education happens to be causing most of the world’s problems, which proceed from world views based on ignorance, half-truths, myths and lies. Only the whole truth counts, and facts don’t lie. Half-truths, myths and lies facilitate a perceived hopelessness leading to social and mental illness. One can be forgiven for ‘not knowing’ but ‘not wanting to know’ is deliberate and in-excusable.
I remember a prediction by renowned scientists in the 1970’s that carbon emissions coupled with the depletion of the ozone layer will lead to the extermination of all life on earth by the year 2000. I don’t know what happened to the ozone hole, it seems to have lost it’s appeal. The carbon apocalypse however, has been brought forward and postponed countless of times, making it hard to keep track. Now, some are demanding zero emissions by 2050, which is long after most of the predicted climate apocalypses. In desperation, I will again have to ask an intellectual to ‘please explain’, because common sense just cannot grasp this concept.
To promote a world view or a cause by means of provocation of fear and panic mongering, facilitates poor mental health in society. Chronic anger is a symptom of weakness, a bad consultant, and certainly not a peacemaker; ‘Blah blah Greta’ take note, ‘cheer up and chill out’.
To campaign for a just cause which you actually understand, is a passionate mission not a lifestyle or a career. I highly respect genuine campaigners who, besides addressing the problem and making themselves heard in a civilised manner and on their own informed initiative, also actively participate in ‘hands-on’ activities such as clean-up or tree planting projects, during their ‘free time’. To put it boldly, instead of angrily demonising and branding anyone who disagrees with you, calling them sceptics and deniers, “pick up a shovel and become part of the solution”.
P.S. “No-one ‘owns’ the climate”.

To sleep is a necessity and a powerful medicine. To sleep anywhere is an attitude which, with practice, develops into an art form.
As kids, we spent our summer holidays camping in home-made tents of bean sticks and plastic tarp, sleeping on bails of straw. As we grew older, we would just crash around the campfire, tranquilised by alcohol, sometimes waking up in the morning to sobering sound of pouring rain, whilst lying in a puddle of mud. Though it wasn’t until I went backpacking on a shoestring budget, that I developed and refined the art of sleeping out. True to the saying “you have a nose for it”, the most important task was finding a suitable place to roll out your sleeping bag. The beach was sufficient in fine weather and so was the roadside, especially when hitchhiking. Inclement weather drove us to seek shelter under bridges, in semi enclosed bus stops, or the roofed entrance of some building among other facilities, such as public toilets. I have wistful memories of the night in Brussels in 1980 when my girlfriend, Anita, and I shared a bottle of Johnny Walker with another backpacking couple followed by a good night’s sleep, on the well sheltered front steps of a bank.
Now my mind drifts back to 1977;
After a long dusty bus trip we are rewarded with a phenomenal orange coloured sky at sunset directly to the west and a full moon rising in the east – a group of us hippies lay our heads to rest in the desert at the Iranian/Afganian border.
Fate assured, the weather God decided to turn on his heavenly tap around midnight, sending me wandering to locate the roofed entrance steps of the only building far and wide. Park benches, the trade-mark bed of the homeless, travellers and drunks, always made for a good sleep, depending on climatic conditions of course. In big cities, we had to compete and score one before nightfall. Then there was the railway station. In Venice we globetrotters would snooze on the floor until the railway guards ordered us to leave but kindly let us sleep on the steps outside. Munich central station had its own special touch. We would doze off on some bench in the cosy waiting room to a rude awakening at 1am, and the shouting of the guards in rhythm with the barking of their German Sheppard dogs moving us on across the road where we dispersed into the old botanical garden, and continued our slumber party under a bush – I liked to call it my second home since it was familiar surroundings for me when I visited Munich! Water fountains and ponds came handy when sleeping out. It was a place where we ‘bush people’ met for our morning wash and a chat. It was one of the busiest spots I found during my travels the other being ‘En Gedi’ beach by the Dead Sea in Israel. The unexpected often plays a role when sleeping out. For example, one night in 1976, after a long day’s travel, my friend ‘Otz’ and I arrived in Tehran late. The cheap backpacker’s dormitories had shut-up shop for the day, leaving us to find some alternative patch of soil to sleep on. In the dark of night, we found what seemed to be some kind of a park, sheltered from the road by a large building, the ideal ‘open air accommodation’ on a warm summer night. ‘So far-so good’, until we woke up to a foul smell and hordes of rats basking in the warm morning sun. Our ideal resting place had turned out to be a rubbish tip, “lucky breakfast wasn’t included in the deal”. Rats of course, weren’t the only vermin we had to tolerate when sleeping out. Mosquitos and an array of other creatures paid their nightly visits. One night in 1979, unable to afford to stay in the only hotel around, four of us decided to spend the night under the stars in the ancient, abandoned desert city of Petra in Jordan. Later, as I woke up for an ‘open air toilet visit’, something slimy slid over my hand. Thinking ‘snake’, I jumped out of my sleeping bag and shook it out, the next morning, to my relief, I found a dead giant centipede nearby. Later a local Bedouin told me it was highly venomous. Needless to say: when sleeping out, security and vigilance is of utmost importance. When you travel, all your belongings are in your backpack, valuables on your body, hidden and zipped-up in pockets and belts, 24/7. The backpack double-functions as a pillow and an alarm, should anyone try and steel it. In certain situations, it may be wise to sleep holding a knife in hand, concealed or visible. This worked for me but don’t take it as gospel. One night in 1977 in Nanital in the Indian Himalayas, I planked down under a tree, next to a ‘Holy Cow’ with her calf. The place was riddled with howling wild dogs, so I decided to sleep ‘at the ready’ holding my pocketknife. My dreams were interrupted by a batten poking my ribs. There were two policemen on patrol, inquiring what the knife was for. They accepted my explanation, ‘protection from the dogs’, hung around for a friendly chat then moved on letting me sleep in peace without any more interruptions. On another occasion in 1980, Anita and I, returning from three months in Africa, arrived in Gaza City late afternoon. Wandering the streets, several locals warned us to ‘get out before nightfall’ if our lives were dear to us. Following the motto ‘always listen to the locals’ we managed to make it to the Israeli border by dusk. We made our bed on a sand dune across the road from the floodlit, sand bagged border station, re-assured by the heavily armed Israeli soldiers, should we get into trouble. True enough, during the night we woke up to find a Palestinian had creeped up and was rubbing his hand over Anita,s sleeping bag. After ignoring my repeated threats to ‘Fuck-off’ (I guess he didn’t understand English), the sight of my branding knife conveyed the message more clearly and made him bolt off into the dark.
Of course, not all sleeping out happens at ground level. For example, circa early 1980, the semi enclosed lifeguard tower on the beach in Eilat at the Red Sea in Israel provided an elevated level of comfort for Paddy the Irishman and me, later joined by two Israelis who had walked the length of Israel from north to south. We made it our dormitory for a week, then moved on trying to score a job on a yacht bound for Djibuti. When, walking up the jetty, Paddy told me he couldn’t swim! A few months later and still on solid ground, I was travelling with Anita in Africa. We hitched a two-day lift in a truck from Kenya all the way to Kampala, the Capital City of Uganda, a country in turmoil, suffering in the aftermath of Idi Amin’s tyranny. Ours was one of the last few trucks to pull into a designated truck depot at the outskirts, just before the night curfew. Nightly killings and looting were the norm, so for a small fee, the place was protected against insurgents by guards carrying the good old AK47. The tiny, high velocity insurgents known as bullets however, called for a different method of protection. With no shielding fixtures around, we slept under the truck, the two drivers, Joseph, Raffael and us, taking one wheel each for partial cover. We dozed off to the rattling sound of machine guns, which we were well used to from our travel through Israel. Next morning as we walked into the city, they had just finished the daily task of removing the corpses. Now, I could go on telling countless other stories, such as sharing the night and a smoke of dope with some visiting Iranian Kurds on the footpath in Tehran, or sleeping in the company of leppers in the streets of India etc. Not to forget the comfortable accommodation on conveniently booked third class, overnight trains, busses and ferries, and of course, the dirt- cheap, indoor and open air Backpacker dormitories throughout the Middle East, Asia and Africa. Well, I hope you enjoyed this glimpse into the life of the ‘Humble Backpacker’ in the 1970’s and 80’s.
Mastery of the ‘art of sleeping out’ coupled with other survival skills I have acquired during my travels, has liberated my mind from worry about loss of property, possession or lifestyle. Metaphorically speaking: “I have slept under bridges before, and I can do it again”; anywhere, anytime.
Recommended reading: Real, Bold & Simple
Chapter 3 – born to be free
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