Igor The Troll

Mariachi Band Guadalajara

In the 80s, when I was around 22 tears of age I was living in New York City and had nothing going for me. I just dropped out of NYU, with a year left to graduate for a business degree. I did not want to work on Wall Street and saw no reason to finish the university program. So, I dropped out of school.

With nothing to do and not interested in finding a job, one day, I decided to hit the road. I bought a Greyhound bus ticket from NYC to Los Angeles. It was really cheap, like 69 usd, and the trip would take 5 days. I took the Northern route to the West coast, via Chicago not Southern route via Carolinas. I boarded the bus at Port Authority at 42nd street and we headed South West to Pennsylvania. I think around New Jersey a cute black chick boarded the bus and set next to me. We talked a lot and she let me play with her tities but would not let me go further than that. She got off the bus at Cleveland Ohio. I love minority ladies Black, Latinos, and Asian. They have lots of zest for life.

At Chicago Illinois two young hipsters got on the bus, a white dude and a black kid. They set at the back of the bus, with the black kid sitting down next to a sweet red head girl. I was bored sitting at the front of the bus by myself, so I went to join them. The guys were really funny and made a lot of jokes. We smoked some reefer. The bus driver did not seem to care, but a few passengers switched their seats. Then the black kid took the red head girl to the toilet, and they fucked there. You just knew they were getting it on, with all the moaning and groaning going on. The kids got off at Lincoln Nebraska. I was stuck by myself left watching the vast Nebraska corn and potato barren fields. Misery at its worst!

We passed Colorado, which was pleasant, winding around mountains and hills; we arrived in Salt Lake City Utah. I lit up a cigarette before getting off the bus. The bus driver told me to put it out! I said, “What the fuck?” Remember it was still the 80s and you were allowed to smoke on public buses. The bus driver replied, “You know, I can get you arrested for cursing in public? In Utah you are not allowed to smoke on public busses, least of all curse in public!” I knew I was in molasses, so I apologized to the guy for cursing and put out my cigarette. I knew, I never wanted to visit Utah again!

From Utah we passed through Nevada via Lake Tahoe, down to California. It was a very scenic route with pine trees, rivers, and hilltops. Driving over the Golden Gate Bridge was really the apex of the trip. There was the whole Pacific Ocean right in front of you. I knew there were many places I wanted to revisit and spend some time in; but I still was not sure where I wanted to go, and what I wanted to do. Right before arriving in Los Angeles I met a couple of dudes on the bus who told me I should buy some electronic stuff and bring it to Mazatlan, Mexico. They told me that I could sell it there for profit. They also said that Mexicans love American made stuff. Now, armed with a plan, I knew I was going to Mexico.

East L.A. was kind of shabby, with drunks and drug addicts wondering the streets in a half dazed manner! They looked like they were ready to fall down and hit the pavement, just supported by a few strings as if slumbering puppets at the end of their performance. I did not spend much time in Los Angeles. I found an electronics shop and bought me 130 usd jukebox! We use to call them Ghetto Blasters! It had a radio, two speakers, and two cassette tape players. Good deal at that time. I figured I could sell it for about 200 usd in Mexico. Buying one was a test run, to see how things go. I got back on the bus and headed to San Diego.

In San Diego I almost got me a tattoo, but I got scared at the last moment. Glad I did not.  I was thinking, “MOTHER”. In San Diego I got on a tramp that took me to San Ysidro, which is right on USA and Mexican border – USA side. I crossed the border by foot over a bridge to Tijuana. Once in Mexico, I decided I needed a bit of rest. I checked into a 10 usd hotel and crashed for a few hours. That evening I checked out the nightlife. I went to a few bars and drank Cerveza. I also visited a few whorehouses and did my thing!

Next day I felt fresh and rejuvenated and was ready to tackle the world. I found out that I could get to Mazatlan by train from Mexicali. I figured taking a train is better than 48 hours by bus. Was I wrong, but you learn from your experience. I took a 4 hours bus ride from Tijuana to Mexicali. There I got on a train and relaxed. I was so exhausted that I fell asleep. When I awoke, I realized my stereo box was gone. I fell asleep holding it in my hands, but when I woke up it was nowhere to be found. As I looked around, I saw a Mexican guy running away with my stereo box. I ran after him, but I could not catch him. I spoke to police, but there was nothing they could do.

I was really in disarray and very upset. I decided to spend a night at this town called Hermosillo. The town was very pleasant with small parks and chirping birds that flew in and out of the tall Maple and Eucalyptus trees. I hung out in one of these parks and watched the sunset. Later, I had a few Beef Tacos from a peddler and walked around the small city window-shopping. I noticed that Levi’s 501 jeans here are sold for 60 usd, while in USA I could buy them for 20 usd.  I spoke to a drug store clerk, who spoke English well. I told her my story of having my stereo box stolen. She told me that Mexicans are crazy for American goods. I asked her, “If I would bring Levi’s jeans and try to sell them for 40 usd, would Mexicans buy them from me?” She said, “Seguro!” – for sure! I knew I had to go back to L.A. and buy more American goods.

The next day I was back to Mexicali on a train. From Mexicali I went by bus to Tijuana. In Tijuana at the border crossing the US official asked me if I am American. I just showed him my NYC driver license and he let me pass. I was an American legal resident with a green card, not American citizen, but at that time the border rules were not as strict as now. Anyway, pass through immigration, nothing to declare to customs I was in San Ysidro. I figured to check out a few local beaches from San Diego to Los Angeles. I hitched along the way on the highway. I did not have much money left, so I slept on a beach and hung out with bums and drank MD 20/20 wine! We call it Mad Dog!

Once in East L.A., I picked up a new stereo box and bought 30 pairs of Levi’s jeans. No problems with the locals, just a few drug dealers tried to intimidate me by staring me down. I just kept walking, paying them no mind.  That evening I took a Greyhound bus to San Diego and crossed the border to Tijuana. I realized that taking a Mexican train is dangerous and did not want my stuff stolen once again. I decided to do the 48 hours air-conditioned bus ride to Mazatlan. I got on a bus in Tijuana, and rested until 3 hours later we came to a border check point. The actual Mexican customs is not at Tijuana but 3 hours inland. I did not know about this. I thought I cleared customs already. I had my 30 jeans stuffed in my army duffle bag, and my stereo box in my hands. I was a bit worried that I might be forced to pay duty fee. Shaking inside of me, fortified on fear of being caught, I came over to the examiner’s table. The customs officer pointed to my bag and said, “Ropa?” – clothes! I said, “See!” – Yes. With a grinning smile he said, “Vale, Salir!” – You can pass! I was really happy! Later I found out that the reason American goods were much more expensive in Mexico compared to USA was because of high import tax

44 hours later I arrived in Mazatlan, exhausted from a long bus ride, but very Feliz – Happy! I checked into an old dilapidated hotel in the old part of Mazatlan Riviera!  It was by the beach, but you could not swim there and had to walk about 10 minutes up the beach to find smooth sand for getting into the water. Otherwise there were no complaints, and the price was really cheap – 15 usd a day! There was a swimming pool at the hotel, the building was colonial type, and the furniture a bit old but was very comfortable. So overall, great deal for the bucks paid! After checking in, I asked a reception worker as to where I can sell my Levi’s jeans. Not only he bought two pairs from me, but also he recommended that I go to El Mercado and peddle them there. Later I went to the market and sold out of most of them in an hour or so.

The rest of a few pairs that I had left I offered to friends and people around where I hung out. The most popular size was 28 inches, so I had a few big sizes left. When people bought the jeans, they did not try them on, but measured the fit by sticking their elbow into the jeans’ waste to get a perfect fit! There was this one guy who sold Mariscos – Ceviche. He was a pain in the ass because he wanted a discount, and I did not give it to him. He told me if I do not give him a discount, he would complain to Mexian immigration about me that I am working illegally in Mexico. The first few days I would not give in, but just kept going to his stall to eat Mariscos, which were very good. Finally I relented and give him a big discount. After that he gave me a discount on my Mariscos. So I probably got back from him more than I gave to him, in discount. But one day, when I tried to extend my Mexican visa in Mazatlan the immigration officer said that someone complained that I was working there illegally, and he told me that he would not be able to extend my visa. He said I could go to a different city to do it, which I did. I wonder if the Fat Mariscos Man squealed on me?  Well, that is life!

There were other shifty and shady characters that I got friendly with in Mazatlan. There was this restaurant owner, a sort of Mafioso type. He ordered Nike sneakers – Air Jordan’s and American made Parliament cigarettes. He was really eccentric. Kind of looked like Lary Flint, but a bit fatter! He and his family bought a lot of stuff from me. Every time I went back to USA for a new load, after I came back, he was the first guy I went to see.  He never bargained with me or asked for a discount. Every time I delivered the goods, he treated me to a dish of Mariscos pasta. Another interesting friend that I made was a Mexican law student who was completing his law studies. He worked as a Legal aid for Fisherman’s cooperative. He use to do all kind of weird stuff, like fish for lobsters illegally – out of allowed season. We use to eat Mariscos together and drink Corona beers!  One day he took me up to a Marijuana plantation, up in the Selva – Jungle. Towards the end of my stay in Mexico, he passed his law exam and became a full-fledged lawyer. He bragged to me that he was doing law work for Colombian drug cartel boss Pablo Escobar. I do not know if it was true or not, but you never know with these Mexicans.

I must have gone to USA and back to Mazatlan more than a dozen times. But one of these times I had a problem. When I went through the Mexican customs via bus route they caught me and would not let me pass into Mexico. I tried to do a smart move and hitched a ride with a Mexican who was crossing through a checkpoint by private pick up truck. But it did not work out well. They asked me to show them all my merchandize, and upon examining it they levied a hefty duty fine. The fine was larger than the value of the merchandize so I decided not to cross to Mexico proper. I just turned around and walked into a small Mexican town, right next to the customs check point. I was really angry and hungry. A peddler was cooking bull steak, and it looked and smelled really good. In fury I grabbed the steak off the grill and devoured it. It was delicious! A few hours later, I went for the train crossing. This time, I held my stuff very tight. 24 hours later I arrived to Mazatlan without a wink of sleep. I was relived that all went well.

I must have done this for about 8 months. It was really fun and I learned how to speak Spanish really well. I did my runs, and then I hung out on the beach bullshiting with tourists and exchanging Mexican Pesos for US dollars. The exchange rate at the bank was very lousy so they were happy to make a better deal! One day I even met a beautiful Japanese girl. When I was exchanging money in a Zocalo – Main plaza I came over to her offering to exchange her dollars for pesos, but she was interested in making an international phone call to Japan. I brought her to my hotel room and let her use my phone. She even gave me money for the phone call. After the phone call we wound up making crazy love. When we finished making love, we went to take a shower together. I placed my wallet under the mattress. She brought her wallet into the shower. We did not trust each other when it came to money, but love was ok! At the end, when I asked her to stay with me, she said that she has a boyfriend waiting for her at the beach! Life is Strange!

Off Road Motorbking

I like going to Cambodia because it is very rustic and the people are very friendly. The most interesting time I had there was when I rented an off road motorbike and drove through the back roads of Cambodia.

I rented the motorbike in Phnom Penh and planned to ride to Sihanoukville via Kampong Speu province back roads. Buying a local map at the market I set out to challenge the dirt roads of Cambodia. I laid out my trajectory, filled the motorbike with gas, picked up some bottled water, and set out for an adventure.

At first the roads where not too bad it was gravel and dry dirt, which I navigated with no problems. But the dirt was blowing in my face, so I picked up some Terminator sunglasses at a local store. The reason I refer to them as Terminator sunglasses because they were huge, sort of like the ones Arnold Schwarzenegger wore in the movie Terminator. They prevented the dirt from coming into my eyes, but at the same time made the desolated dirt roads look surreal, because of lack of light.

I tried to keep my speed around 60 kilometers at times going 80, when the surface was smooth. There were a few isolated houses between one small village and another. I kept the momentum going because I did not know how long it will take me to get to a major town, and did not want to get stuck in some isolated village. A village may not have a hotel. So, where would I sleep? At some points I had to cross small rives and streams. The best way to do it was to pick up speed so you do not get caught in the muddy bottom and slip.

After 5 or 6 hours on the back roads I came to a small village where I tried to ask directions. My reason for asking directions was that the road seemed to end all of a sudden. It became like a small walking path. I stopped by one house and asked a local man if I can go forward. I pointed to the direction that I wanted to go. He waved his hands signifying I cannot ride that way. He pointed in the direction that I just came from and in his limited English advised me to turn back. I was very tired, and it was turning late. I asked him if I could sleep at his wooden shack house. He vehemently objected. I was too exhausted and just plummeted to the ground next to my motorbike. I put my head on the grass and laid down quietly

After a few minutes on the ground a bunch of kids gathered around me. They were saying hello to me, trying to practice their English. I was a bit tired to talk but squeezed out a few friendly words. The kids were wearing school uniforms and looked really cute. In no time, the lady of the house came out of the wooden structure and started waving me to go away. I really did not have power to drive and took out a few dollars from my wallet showing that I am willing to pay for a bed. After a bit of comprehension and discussion with her husband, she invited me into her wooden shack. I was relived.

I moved my motorbike onto the property and walked into the wooden structure. I was surprised that there was no furniture and only a couple of hammocks. I set down on the floor and begin to communicate with my new friends. I learned that they are Khmer Rouge people. You know the ones that caused a revolution in Cambodia with Pol Pot. They did not speak any English and we were talking with our hands. I made a sign to my mouth and then to my stomach saying food. They brought out some dry fish and beef jerky. It was very little but I was grateful to get something to eat. There was one guy there with half a leg blown off by a land mind. He brought some rice wine. I drank some and felt like I was drinking diesel fuel. The stuff was crazy strong.

After my one legged friend had a few drinks of the homemade whisky, he started pointing to my bike and to the directions I wanted to go. He signified that there is a huge hill there with no road and all grass slope, but he can ride it. I knew it was the whiskey talking not the man, even though he did know a few English words. After talking for a few hours the family turned off the lights to get ready for sleep. They gave me a bamboo met to lie on.

In the morning I got up and decided to challenge the big hill. I gave a few dollars to my hosts, got my motorbike back onto the small path, and I was gone. The road was really a walking path, so I had to weave and zigzag in and out from one side to another trying to avoid rain puddles. Bang, the bike hit a puddle and I started sinking in the mud. I tried to maneuver it out. I tried to press the accelerator, but I felt the bike was stalling. I tried switching gears from second to first, but it was too late. The bike stalled. I came plummeting into the mud on my side.

I worked hard to pick up the bike, because the engine and the manifold were kind of hot and the bike was heavy. After managing it to upright position I restarted the beast. I got on top of it, gave it gas, but the wheels just kept spinning. I put some leaves and wood sticks under the back tire; but when I tried to go forward the debris was just kicked out and I was back sinking in the mud. After a few attempts I was loosing strength. The bike fell back on its side. I tried to pick it up and start it again. The starter made some clicking noise, but the engine would not start. I tried pushing the bike, but it was too heavy and had no traction. The bike slipped and fell into the mud again. I knew the battery was dead, frustrated I gave up.

I decided it would be best to walk back to the tiny village and get help. I left the bike behind and ventured back on foot to the village. After a few kilometers, I found an Ox carriage carrying timber to give me a ride back to the village. In the village, I found a guy with a motorbike. He spoke some English. I bagged him to come with me to my motorbike and help me start it up. After a bit of imploring I convinced him to help me. He borrowed a car battery that they used for electricity for lamps, and he and his friend took me on their motorbikes back to my bike. I set with one of them, while the other carried the big battery.

When we arrived at my bike, it was still there. I picked up the bike and pressed the start button. It worked, and the engine started. Apparently the starter contacts where wet, and after drying up for a few hours, the starter worked with no problems. I tried to move the bike out of the mud but failed again. That is when one of the local guys got on my bike. The other guy and me pushed the bike from behind, while he maneuvered the bike out of the mud. I was very grateful for their help. They asked me for a few dollars for gas, which I gladly gave them. I thanked them. I decided not to attempt crossing the big hill through mud and grass and turned back to where I came from.

I rode my motorbike back to a big village, got some gasoline, and had lunch there. I did not want to go back all the way to the highway, so still looked for a way to head south on the dirt roads. I asked the local people at the restaurant if I could go straight down from where I was to Kampong Speu city. They said yes. I got back on my bike and drove to something that looked like a bridge. The bridge was bombed out and only had the beginning parts protruding into the river. I saw some locals on the other side. I screamed out to them if I can cross through the river. They motioned to go ahead. I rode down from the levy to the river beach and accelerated into the water.

The surface was sand, so I head traction. But I knew if I would slow down I would be swept by the current and would fall. As I was crossing the river, the water got really deep. At one point the water got up to my chest, but I kept going. The locals on the other side were standing there looking at me with amazement. I think they knew that it is very deep and did not think I would attempt to cross. For them it was more of a challenge to the dumb tourist. With a little luck I passed the deep section of the river and started coming closer to shore. All the locals started to applaud me as if I was some sort of a hero. I made it to dry land!

I drove all the way through the night. It was a bit scary with only headlamps gleaming the dirt road. Had a few raccoons cross my path at times. In the morning I came onto a paved road, had breakfast, and headed toward Sihanoukville. On the highway I realized my gas tank was leaking. It had a small crack and gas was sipping out at the rim, where the cap is. Worried about having a spark ignite the fuel, I applied a temporary solution. I bought some adhesive glue and patched it up. It did not last too long. Every 20 or so kilometers I had to redo the treatment.

In Sihanoukville, I took a bit of a break. I got my gas tank welded and replaced the back breaks. I ate good food and took a walk on the beach. I only stayed there one night and headed out to Kampot. I was told there is an abandoned casino at Bokor Hill Station, on the way to Kampot. I decided to visit it. It was located in the national park. I had to pay 30 usd entrance fee, but I was too cheap. As I was driving to the entrance gate, I picked up speed and winged it. No problem, the gatekeeper did not bother going after me.

I drove up the 3,000 meters mountain to the top. At first the road was asphalt, but it quickly turned it to gravel and small boulders with mud. Towards the end it started to rain. The raindrops were a bit painful beating my skin. I arrived at the top of the mountain. The place was desolate and engulfed in fog. There was a few abandoned buildings:. An old radio station still had its antenna protruding into the air, looking ominous. There was an empty skeleton building that used to be a casino. I walked into it to dry myself a bit. Inside I found a guard who advised me that there is a guest house where I could sleep. It was getting late, and I could not see myself riding back down the mountain today.

It felt creepy! The rain kept falling, at times very hard at times light. The wind would raise its ugly head making it almost intolerable. I do not know, I was just going in circles or something. I had to drive for about a half an hour or so until I came onto the guest house. Once inside the guest house, I got out of my wet clothes and put on some damp clothes that I had in my backpack. I set down by a stove and wormed myself up. The place had very little food. The people who stayed there brought their own or reserved food to be prepared. Being that I did not have a reservation, but showed up all of a sudden, I can only buy some instant noodle soup. It was better than nothing; I also scavenged some chicken from the other guests. I was dead, and I went to sleep.

The next day, after getting up I headed off the mountain. There was no food to eat at the guesthouse, but it was a great sunny day. I was energized. I slowly weaved down the path trying to avoid jagged rocks. I was on the asphalt road. I picked up speed. I figured being that I got in without paying, I might as well go fast through the exit. I did not want trouble. I was going very fast, I pressed the front break to slowdown. I hit the ground. Ouch, it hurt badly. The front wheel got locked, because I applied the front brake when I was going down hill. I only tapped it a bit, but because I was using it a lot on the way down, it overheated and locked.

My shoulder was dislocated and the bike was damaged. The front fender was crooked and the mirror was broken. Persevered I got up. I was full of resilience. A park ranger saw me fall and came to check if I was alright. I told him, I am fine as, I got on the bike and slowly limped away from the accident scene. My shoulder was in excruciating pain, but I knew I had to keep going. I rode the motorbike past the park’s gate. I was free.

In pain, I slowly drove to the nearest town. I checked into a small hotel. It felt a bit better. I took the bike to the repair shop and for about 20 usd got it fixed really well. They fixed the fender, replaced the mirror, and put new front brakes. I felt relieved. I decided to slow down for the rest of the journey. I visited Kampot beaches and ate delicious barbequed seafood on one of the beaches. The trip was coming to the end, and it was time to return back to Phnom Penh. The next day I drove about 200 kilometers back to the capital.

Off road motorbiking in Cambodia was one of the best adventures I have ever had. I was wild. I was free. I was innocent. I knew I did a bad thing by trying not to pay the park fee, but I did it as an act of civil disobedience. The price that they were charging was very exuberant compared to the Cambodian economic living standards.

Japanese Girl Orgasm

Japanese Girl Orgasm - Watch more Free Videos

A few hours after I published on Youtube this video of me having Sex with a Japanese girl, it was banned by Youtube!

Was this video Sex in the first place?

One minute you believe it is Sex, the next minute you do not believe it is Sex. Was it even me in the video? Maybe I just took some video on the Internet and put my voice over it? LMAO

The power of Illusion. This video is a masterpiece.!

I am a Mossad Operative!

Recently I made someone believe that I am a Mossad operative. Not only did he believe it but he told Hezbollah that I am Mossad operative. So Hezbollah thinks I am a Mossad operative and my Friend David Appletree’s organization JIDF is Mossad sponsored organization. JIDF fights Antisemitism on the Internet. Hezbollah
thinks JIDF is Mossad

The Power of Illusion! I am the Master LinkBaiter Troll.

In Social Media and Mass Media, it is not what is Truth, but what people believe is the Truth!

Jerusalem Temple Wall

I just finished hanging out in Italy on the island of Sardinia for the spring and summer. I did not have much money, but it was time to move on to a warmer place, because it was getting cold. I jumped on the train in Rome and was hoping a conductor would not come around to check my ticket. I had none.

I was able to stay on the train all the way to Geneva, Italy. There a train conductor kicked me off. You see in Europe you can ride trains for free, that is if you get caught they just kick you off the train. I spent a few hours walking around in Geneva, had my lunch, and got on a train to the French border. At the border I went through the visa check, this was before EU, and got on a train to Spain

On the train to Spain, I met a bunch of young guys who were vagabonding Europe, same as I was. They told me that you need a visa to get into Spain and it costs 40 usd. They said to me that they do not want to pay the money and will attempt to cross illegally over a small mountain path. I did not have much money, and what I had I needed it to buy food, so I agreed to join them.

We got off the last station in France and proceeded to cross this hill. The hill was deserted except some goats running around grazing on the grass. When we got to the top of the hill, all of the sudden, Spanish border patrolman screamed at us, “Parado.” We stopped. He came over to us and examined our documents. Checking our passports and realizing we had no visas, he stamped “Entry Denied” in them. I was really angry and upset that we got caught. He said that we must go back to France, because we will not be able to enter Spain. There was a fire burning in a metal barrel next to the checkpoint house, where he brought us to examine our papers. In anger, I took my Israeli passport and threw it in the fire. The Spaniards laughed, as if it was a joke.

I came back over to the French side and pondered what to do. A few of my new mates recommended walking through the train tunnel from France to Spain. They said that it was only about 5 kilometers, and they have done it before. Not wasting any time, we commenced to walk to the train tunnel. Once inside, it got a bit dark and cold, but things were all right. There was still some daylight coming in at the beginning, as well as, a few light bulbs shone some light here and there. We managed to get through the tunnel without an incident. At one point a train did plough through, but we just hugged the wall for about 5 minutes. It was not too bad.

Once outside the tunnel, at the first train station in Spain, we boarded a train to Barcelona. No problems with the border patrol, I was free to go where I wanted. I arrived at Barcelona and found a hotel for 10 usd a day. In the mid 80s Barcelona was really cheap, that was before it became part of the Euro zone. Now you pay 70 Euros for the same hotel. After staying 6 months in Italy and not having any Sex, I was wild and picked up a few hookers for 10 usd a shot. I tried to make some money by selling umbrellas on Las Ramblas, but when police stopped me they took my merchandise away. After it happened too many times I gave up.

After a week in Barcelona my money was running out. I was thinking what to do. Every time I have a hard time and do not know what to do, I think of going back to Israel. As a Jew Israel is always my home; and I decide that is what I am going to do. Hook or crook I will get back to Israel. I took a train to the south of Spain and arrived at the bottom of the European continent. I crossed over Gibraltar by ferry to Ceuta, a Spanish city on the African continent. I was out of money and had to move quickly. I tried to cross to Morocco via the border, but they denied me entrance, because I did not have a passport.

I was in dire straits, no food and no money. I did the unthinkable. I swam 10 kilometers in Mediterranean Sea of Gibraltar to get from Spanish territory to Morocco. I tied my sneakers to my waste and jumped into the water a few kilometers away from the border. The sea was dark. The waves were strong. The water was cold. I swam a few kilometers out and proceeded to cross. I was a good swimmer and swam about 10 kilometers before in the Caribbean Sea, but I rested midway, before turning back. Out in the sea, I got scared. What if the sharks would attack me? I had no choice. I was committed. I had to suppress my fear and keep going. After hugging the coastline for a while, trying to avoid being spotted by Moroccan border patrol I finally felt safe enough to climb out of the sea onto some rocks. I was safe on land.

My body was shaking and convoluting from fear and exhauster, but I was safe. As soon as I climbed out on to the precipice I met a Moroccan kid. The kid was carrying some bread loaves, and I motioned to them speaking in Spanish, “Tu puedas me dar uno?” Not only did the kid give me one of his breads, but he also gave me some change. He also warned me not to stay too long in the little village but to keep going. I thanked him and dug into the bread with my ferocious teeth. It felt good. I have not eaten anything all day. I started my swim crossing at noon and it was around 7 pm now.

I walked into the village and found a coffee shop. They were not too happy to see me but sold me coffee. It was kind of scary. They were all staring at me. My clothes were all ripped from climbing the rocks. I drank my coffee quickly and left. It was dark and I could not see too well where I was going. I got to this chain hanging between two poles and froze. I saw an international sign for mines, a skull with two cross bones. I thought I was in the minefield. As I stood there not knowing what to do, two soldiers approached my direction. First they did not notice me, but being scared I coughed. They came over to me and I was apprehended. They took me to a truck, and I was taken away.

I was in this truck with other people who were picked up in the area. Many Africans try to cross from Morocco to Spain and came to this area to do it. The soldiers took us to this valley in the woods. In the middle of the field there was a commander sitting at his desk interviewing detainees. It looked like a scene from a movie. I thought I was going to get the firing squad! People are being separated in two groups. One group would stay on the field while others would be put on another truck. I came to the commander’s desk. He asked me in Spanish what I was doing here. I told him I gut high on hashish with some Italian friends and went swimming in the sea. He asked me for documents. I said I have none. I lost my American passport. He motioned to a soldier. I was put onto a truck and driven away.

I did not know where we were going, but at least I was still alive. They brought me to a police station and explained to me that I will be taken to court where it will be determined as to what to do with me. I was given a baguette sandwich with beef. I really loved it. A few hours later I was taken to court. At court, they determined to deport me out off Morocco. I was happy!

I was brought to a detention center, which was one room in a basement of a building. There were over a hundred people in the room. No beds or mats. It was a nightmare. I was told by one of the officer that a USA consulate is sending someone to talk to me, and I should be patient. When the consulate employee arrived, I told him I have a USA green card. He told me it might take a couple of months to verify it. I said, “Shit, “ “where would I have to wait?” He told me I would have to wait in this room for the duration of the time. I am like WTF? Quickly I came up with an idea! I said to him, tell the Moroccan authorities that I came from Spain and they know me at the border and will let me back in. 10 minutes late I was in a truck being driven to the Spanish Moroccan border. At the border, I just walked by and waved at the immigration saying, “Hola, recordes me?” which in English means do you remember me! They said nothing, but let me pass.

I wanted to quickly get away from Ceuta and get back to mainland Spain. Right away, I went to the ferry peer. I had no money to board the ferry. I asked people for spare change to get enough to board. I saw a Jewish rabbi. I was happy, thinking he would help. But he did not believe I was Jewish and told me to come around to his house later on to talk. When I came to his house, later in the afternoon, he talked to me through his window on the third floor. After a whole bunch of questions he told me he would not help me. I felt angry. I went back to the ferry. I was told I could buy a ticket on the ferry; so I decided to board the ferry and try to ride it for free. On the ferry I met a couple German ladies who I offered to sell an Alexandria rig to. I bought the Alexandria ring from Russian Gypsies in Rome, really cheap. I did not want to sell it. Some Alexandria stones are very expensive, worth up to 10,000 usd for a stone the size I had. I still remember the stone because it changed colors depending on the temperature, sunlight, and mood when you held it.. But I needed the money to pay for the ferry ticket. I got 40 usd for it. What a waste.

Once I disembarked from the ferry, I got on a train for Madrid. I had no train ticket as usual, and I got kicked off at some station in Andalusia. There, I met a beautiful Rubia at the train station platform. I was heading to Madrid but she was going back home south. I spoke very little Spanish so could not say much. My attire was in disarray, because I had a bad experience in Morocco. My pants were full of holes, and I must have smelled like a sewer. Instead of taking the train to Madrid, I turned around and got on the train with the Rubia. We did not talk much, and at her station I got off and got on her moped. We drove up the mountain to her little house. As I walked into the house the girl got a small tub and placed it in the middle of the room. She told me to undress and get into the tub. I followed her instructions to the tee. She washed my whole body, and later we went upstairs and made passionate love. For the next few days all we did was make love without even eating! I was 25 years old when this happened. Anyone who has been to Spain probably knows how passionate Spanish women are, and “Rubia” has a special meaning for a Spanish woman! All you guys out there go to Spain and find out what is a Rubia!!!

After spending a few wonderful days with a beautiful charming Spanish lady, I left for Barcelona. In Barcelona it was cold. I had no money and was only able to buy a bit of food to eat. That night, I slept on the street by a library. In the middle of the night, a policeman awakened me. He asked me to move. I felt sick and was tired. I told him to fuck off, in Spanish. He arrested me. I was taken to court, and it was decided that I should be deported. I was taken to a deportation detention center to await the process. For the next two months, I smoked Duros – black tobacco, ate shit food, and was made fun of by Arabs. Finally I was deported to Israel.

I did not get to cross into Israel by dessert from Morocco, but I flew into Israel by Iberia airline. I went to Jerusalem and prayed at the Temple Wall. I thanked God for bringing me safe to the Holly Land.

Fucked Up

Beyond All

Repairs!