The world feels so cold and heartless. My parents were my flagstone growing up. They have completely abandoned me for a business deal. I have written them almost weekly from Frankie’s home. I didn’t expect them to respond. I hope they are happy with Paul’s life. I finally call George.
“You are in trouble. You should not have left!”
Frankie is in and out of the room and I know she can hear his loud stern voice across the phone.
“I wanted a life with you Gorge, not the life of a mistress holed up in a hotel room pregnant and by myself.”
“Who are you with?”
“I’m staying with a nice family.”
“Where are you?”
“I’m in Pittsburgh.”
“Did you have that baby of yours?”
At that point, I felt like I made a big mistake calling him. He wouldn’t even acknowledge that she is our baby.
“I miscarried.”
I didn’t want him to know anymore about her.
“Oh good. You should’ve stayed and just gotten the abortion.”
I didn’t respond. I just listened from that point to his diatribe.
“I put out a missing persons at the police. I talked to the hotel staff. They said you just left. I think you are losing your mind. I’m coming to Pittsburgh to see you. I’m booking a flight tonight. I will call you and let you know what time I will be there.”
“D’accord.”
My stomach is sinking. This man is so mean and cold. I don’t trust him anymore. I wish I had taken more time to get to know him instead of being infatuated with my own hopeless love fantasy. Life is stark. Life is cold. He is a stranger and my new baby is gone.
Gorge arrives in Pittsburgh and I had already left Frankie’s to go back to the Marriott. I didn’t want him to meet Frankie or even know I had been staying with someone. ‘Knock knock’.
‘Oh God He’s here’, I think to myself.
I open thé door and instead of admiring his handsome looks, I see his deep set bloodshot eyes and crooked mouth expression glaring straight down on me. He looks like a raving lunatic. His silence and seething expression say everything that he seems to not be able to say. I can see this is not going to go well.
“Pack your things. We’re leaving.”, is the only thing that he said to me. He went completely silent as I’m packing my things just glaring at me.
May 23, 1968, we leave the hotel. The taxi is driving out of town further into the darkness of the highway.
“Where are we going? To the airport?”
He is still silent.
The taxi pulls up in front of a really large building that looks like a government building. It is dinner time and my empty stomach grumbles as I am losing my appetite.
“Where are we?”
“At the hospital. I scheduled an appointment for you to be seen by a doctor. I cannot having you going about aimlessly like a prostitute on the streets.”
It dawned on me rather quickly that this is a mental ward. They admitted me. There wasn’t an appointment. There wasn’t an intake. He didn’t even stay. He just left me on the doorstep of a mental ward and they admitted me without even speaking to me. Gorge told them my name is Piper Montgomery with no validation not identification.
The more I insisted on who I am, the worse it seems to be getting for me. I do not even know of anyone named Piper.
Gorge is pure hell. I am beginning to think that he had something to do with my baby being stolen at the hospital. I may never find her now locked up in this mental hell.
The residents look like zombies. Many are roaming aimlessly up and down the glaring fluorescent halls, blank and expressionless and moaning as if in a secret ongoing pain.
It reminds me of the stories of London’s Bedlam. Bedlam asylum is the first insane asylum to exist in the world, housing patients as early as the 1600’s. My life is Bedlam!
I just go to bed in my new prison. Each spring pokes through while I cliff hang to the softest part of this cold hard bed. This room is plain white with no windows. There is no television. There isn’t a bathroom. It is just a solitary room of confinement with a bed and nothing else. At night, I can hear the footsteps click down the hallway as each room door’s tumblers echo throughout.
I heard some of the patients talking about getting electrocuted. I thought it was mad talk until they took me to electroshock therapy.
“Relax”, as I am guided into a hospital bed. I can already smell the dry sting of electricity in the air. Orderlies grab my arms and straps them in leather straps, placing a sponge in my mouth. The anesthesia is making me drowsy. I completely black out with the pain of the first shock. One dose of pure electrical torture and I know that I need to get out of here.
My head is aching as if 1000 knives plunged in at one time. It affects my whole body. I cannot get rid of the sickly feeling and massive migraines caused by mental health treatment. Couple the torture with the medication that makes you completely out of any reality and anyone can see how easily a person can rot in a place like this.
We are not permitted phone calls. It is complete isolation from the outside world forced into the company of 900 strangers that I cannot hold a conversation with. It is pure evil what Gorge did to me.
I understand him now. I am a problem and he wants rid of me permanently. The insane asylum was his way of getting rid of his problem…me.
I need to get out of this place. During outdoor time in the courtyard, I look at several escape routes while my mind begins planning.
Behind the building, it looks wooded. It is probably fenced. I slip to the side of the building. No one is watching. I look back and yes, it is fenced and barb wired. I wonder if the fence is electrified also. There are woods beyond the fence. I need to get back in the crowd before they notice I am missing. I slip back in with the rest of the medicated zombies without any issue.
I haven’t even been here for a week and one electrotherapy treatment is one too many. I pretend to take the pills, slipping them under my tongue until I have an opportunity to dispose of them. I usually flush them down the toilet.
It is already the first week of June. We’re back in the courtyard. I make my way to the back and begin climbing the fence. The area where I am climbing, the barbed wire is loose and sits low above the fence. I place one leg over and glide the other catching my tattered dress and tearing the bottom of it. I jump to the ground.
Slipping into the trees, my time is short before they will notice my absence. The trees are dense with jaggers and growth on the ground. The only paths look like animal paths with hoof prints dotting the largest path. I follow it.
They take a head count so I have to make a break for it before it is time to go back in. I slide down the hillside and onto the street running as fast as I can until I cannot run anymore. I stop to breathe and slow my heart rate down while sufficiently out of sight to anyone passing by. My vagabond hospital dress is a dead giveaway that I am a mental ward escapee.
Lurking into backyards and dark corners, I see clothing hanging on the line to dry. I take a loose blouse and a pair of short pants that look to be the right size and make my way further away from the house where I had just stolen the clothing from. In between two quiet houses close together, I slip into the damp clothing.
I’m still wearing the hospital slippers. My casual appearance melds right into the crowd.
I make it to the town and ask someone for bus fare. A nice man gave me five dollars. I took the bus to the city and called Frankie. Frankie called a taxi that is here before I know it. Frankie paid the taxi driver on arrival and helped me into her home. I knew I couldn’t stay at Frankie’s. They would soon be looking for me.
“What happened to you?”.
“Frankie! Gorge forced me into Dixmont mental asylum. I escaped with my life. They are going to be searching for me and may come here. I am so scared.”
“I’m calling the police!”
“No! Don’t call the police. They will just take me back there. Gorge signed to have me committed claiming he is my husband. He gave them fake names with false paperwork to match.”
“I wish I knew how to help you.”
It wasn’t even a full twenty-four hours before Gorge just magically appeared with his Gestapo in tow. He just showed up at Frankie’s home. How did he know I would be here?
He drove me back to New York. I am thinking perhaps he has had a change of heart and will do the right thing this time. I don’t know what I am clinging to with Gorge.
Gorge did not say a single word during the seven hour drive. Every word from my mouth was met with complete silence.
We arrive at an unassuming wood two story home. It is painted a dirty gray with the porch painted to match.
This time he is locking me up in the basement of one of his friend’s homes. I struggle against the confinement but he is too strong. The door slams and locks.
This dank basement is musty and dirty. There is a bed with an old worn wood nightstand beside it. Cob webs dangle in the corners of the sandstone blocks that are the foundation of this house. Damp and cool, the musty odor is next to unbearable.
There is one old coal chute that has been turned into a window with wrought iron bars. There is no way to escape out of this basement prison. The people who live here bring me food regularly, wash my laundry, and get me what I need. I have not been formally introduced and remain clueless as to my location and their identity.
I feel like Sarah Hemings locked in a basement waiting for her husband to come see her and spend time with her. Gorge stays most of the day when he visits just complaining about the filth, the smell, and my appearance. This is not a life. My mind is planning my escape daily. There has to be more to life than this.
There is a an old black and white television here. I don’t watch the television at all. I’m in prison and just spend all of my time in my thoughts. I don’t even know what day it is anymore. Alone and sad, I just lay on this bed and cry my days away. I yearn for that life of marriage and the promise of motherhood. I yearn to be a mother to my child. I wonder if Ms. Smith is a good mother to her. I yearn for Gorge to love me like he should. I wish we could be a family.
I watch the person who tend to my needs and the times he brings me breakfast, lunch and dinner. I also listen to when people leave the house and when they come back. I can tell what time it is by the shadow a rod in the ground makes on the pavement. Everyone is gone after lunch almost until dinner.
If I knock on the door at the top of the stairs, the man will usually answer and bring me a tea, water or a coffee.
It seems like I have been here for a year. My whole body is emaciated and out of shape. I don’t even look in the mirror anymore because I have become so ugly. I cannot bathe and just wash off with a dirty washcloth and water. My body odor seeps through where I normally have no offensive body smells at all. I smell like a human pig trapped in a pen.
I hear them talking about Easter. My estimate is it is February or March 1970. He came to get me in August of 1969. Maybe my time is completely off because I have been in this dungeon so long.
I finally made my escape. I waited for the afternoon for the house to get quiet. I knock on the door for some tea. I hear the man’s footsteps in the kitchen to make the tea. I wait for him to bring the tea.
I am at the top of the stairs waiting for the door to open. As soon as he opens the door, I push past him and run out the front door as fast as I can. I run like the wind for blocks. I find a big bush and hide in the bush for hours. Every police car that passes I think is after me.
I need to get my bearings. I keep asking passer-byes how to get to the city since we were not in the city of New York. One man said he was on his way to the city and would drop me there. I ended up in Brooklyn with no money and no where to go. I needed to call Frankie.
I don’t like begging for anything or asking people for money, but I had to make a call. I stood by a phone booth in Brooklyn looking like a homeless person. I finally got enough change to call.
“Frankie, I’m in trouble.”
“Where are you?”
“Gorge held me captive in New York. I just escaped. I have no money and no where to go. I have no identification.”
“I am driving up there to get you out of there. Let me pack a few things. Do you need anything? I still have some of your belongings here.”
I’m crying hysterically now, “ Please bring me clothing, clean under garments, makeup, my wigs, some shoes and a hair brush. I have traveller’s chèques hidden in the blocked off fireplace in my room. Please bring those chèques. I can’t thank you enough for everything you have done for me.”
“Where are you now?”
“I’m in Brooklyn.”
“I’m going to get you a room. Hold one minute.”
The operator was asking for more coins, I plugged another 50 cents in in dimes.
“St. George Hotel, we stayed there years ago. Call me back in 20 minutes.”
I waited about 20 minutes and called Frankie back. I am running out of coins fast.
“I booked you a room at St. George Hotel. It is paid for. The name I booked it under is Jane Smith. You can get cleaned up and rested. I’ll meet you there.”
“Frankie. I cannot thank you enough for your generosity.”
I walked blocks until I found the hotel. It was a large building. The entrance was on the Main Street. I walked in an it was stunning inside.
Worrying about my appearance, I quickly gather myself and take a deep breath. I smell horrible. I look horrible. I was worried that I would have trouble without identification. Everything always seems to work in my favor. At the front desk, I simply say I have a room booked and paid for. My name is Jane Smith. She looks through her papers, “Ah yes, here it is and hands me the key.”
I must look old and unassuming. Normally, I have presence everywhere I go. Now, no one notices me.
This hotel had an old feel but was really stunning. The entrance had the original wood finishings. There was an indoor pool and a tropical terrace bar and restaurant. I was impressed. I found my room, showered, and took a nap. Frankie said she would be here in a few days.
The bath water is running and warm. Soap is a gift. I glide in and soak the filth off of me for hours. I scrub the dry skin off with a fresh clean washcloth. I am finally starting to feel like a person again and not a caged animal.
I’m worried that Gorge is calling around the hotels and will find me here. I ask the front desk for a pair of scissors. My hair has grown quite long. I cut it to a smart shoulder length. It is a different style than I have worn in a long time. My natural hair is straight, healthy and almost black. My new self cut hair style looks fabulous.
I still do not have fresh clothes nor money to buy any clothing. Washing the dress I have been wearing and my under garments, I hang them to dry in the bathroom and sleep naked for the night.
The sun is up shining through my window and brightening up my room. Rubbing my eyes, I drag myself out of the comfortable bed and put on my tired old floral dress. My stomach is rumbling as I make my way to the dining area for breakfast. After a hearty American breakfast of eggs over easy, toast, crisp bacon, fried potatoes and coffee, I slip out the front door of the hotel and walk through the streets of Brooklyn.
It is my lucky day! A twenty dollar bill was just lying there for me to find. Crisp, green and new, it is ripe for spending.
It is still cool outside and I’m freezing. I find a Woolworth discount store. I managed to get a nice plain white shirt with a pair of khaki long style pants for ten dollars. I also purchased a new pair of plain Jane black shoes that are somewhere between dressy and casual. My flats slide on easily. Thin black socks should keep my feet warm.
I make my way back to the hotel after a morning and afternoon of window shopping helping to break in my new shoes. I got sample cosmetics from every haute couture shop I visited.
I cut the tags off and put on my fresh new outfit. Putting on a little makeup not only makes me look better but feel better.
Frankie arrived somewhere around noon. I was nervous being in New York City knowing Gorge had his goons out looking for me. I didn’t even venture out of the hotel much after my window shopping. I had just spent the last day waiting to leave.
I don’t even look like myself. My hair is thinning in the front because I keep ripping it out. I acquired that habit while in Gorge’s prison. I manage to cover it by combing it to the side with a side part.
I didn’t even order breakfast because I don’t want to put anything extra on their tab. She arrived late morning and had my belongings packed into a cheap suitcase. I am grateful.
“How long until you are ready?”
“Can you give me a half an hour?”, and she left to look around the hotel. I found suitable clothes and shoes. I was happy to have more than a couple of outfits to wear. She packed me a couple of my wigs and a brush. I brushed them both out and decided to stay natural.
We are discussing my situation over dinner at local Brooklyn family restaurant. I was nervous about being seen but then I realized Gorge nor his friends would ever come to this place.
The food was a five star mediocre. I have learned to live with less and less quality. I have no designer clothing left. I buy cheap fashionable clothing that looks expensive and cut the tags out.
“I think you should consider returning to Europe.”
“I really don’t want to leave without my child.”
“I think it is best for you to work with your family on this matter. Since Gorge came to my doorstep to get you, I have not really wanted to be involved. Obviously my family is involved.”
“My family has officially disowned me. Of course, no one would look for me back in Europe and perhaps I can get my birthright and get my daughter back”
“We really think it is the wise thing to do, for yourself and for us.”
“I am sorry I got you involved in this. I am forever grateful for you.”
And her lecture trails off into a babble of meaningless words while my mind drifts off. I love watching the countryside change from flat to mountainous. I imagine à tunnel going through the hard cold mountain. This tunnel is longer than the one I imagined a short while ago. We have many tunnels in Switzerland to get through the mountains. I yawn and my ears pop.
We stop to get something to eat. Frankie is singing with the music in the restaurant. The music fades into a hodgepodge of songs I do not know. It’s music roulette. There are anything from slow rock songs, country songs to One Hit Wonders looking for their stardom.
“Staring off into outer space?” Frankie says as she nudges me with her elbow.
“Oh yes sorry. I am just very tired. I haven’t been sleeping well.”
“I understand.” , she says with a smile.
We all chuckle and I begin to calm down being with good people I trust.
Frank has contacts. Here is an American passport with the name Julie Valentine and a photo of you we took at the house. She slides it across the restaurant table.
Looking at it, I could not even tell it was a fake passport. I didn’t feel right about using a fake name and passport that said I was an American, but I didn’t have a choice. I thought my bad English and accent were a dead giveaway. Using my real name would surely get me caught by Gorge again. I liked the name Julie Valentine. It was an American and a French name. It would be my name for a little while.
“I’m not sure where to go in Europe.”
“Go to the authorities. File the police reports you need about your child. Your child should also be a Swiss citizen.”
“That is exactly what I will do. I didn’t get a chance to name my child. They told me that they call all still borns Jane with the last name Doe. I will file it under the name of the woman she is staying with. I know her name when I saw it on the bassinet in the hospital.”
“Frank is going to get you a round trip flight to Switzerland. Your return flight is June 22cd. You are welcome at our home anytime in case it doesn’t work out for you. We want you to be safe and feel you will be safer in your home country. The return flight is for you to hopefully find your child. Have a safe trip and call me to let me know if you are coming back on the return flight so that I can pick you up at the airport.”
“I will have to come back for my baby. I believe you are right. It is time for Gorge to lose track of me and then I can slip back later to look for my baby girl again. I will try to get an avocat to get my baby back. Hopefully, I can access my money back home.”
She walked me back to the hotel and told me she would book the flight for me.
It is March 15th, 1970 and I am finally on my way back to Europe. After a long trip of several flights and a train ride, I arrive in the Canton de Vaud the next day.
It is March 16, 1970. I resign to getting a hotel in Lausanne and sleeping for the next 48 hours with the traveller’s chèques I had stashed at Frankie’s. I am so exhausted from the trip.
I decide to go big and book a room at the Hotel Royal Savoy. I need some pampering. It has a pool and a spa along with lounges. I get my room and just fall down onto the bed.
I awake to faceless demons in the middle of the night. They have no arms or legs. Like Casper’s ghost their bodies are see through and worm-like. They have me pinned down. I am awake but I cannot move. I see them when they pull my consciousness out of my body, then they disappear as I struggle internally to stay grounded. They are real and not a dream. The demons are on my chest sucking the life right out of my body and soul. I cannot even scream. I can only move my eyes. I finally break free and can move. They’re gone. What are they? What do they want?
Sitting up with my head in my knees, I realize that my nightmares cannot get worse than this. I am afraid to try to sleep. I wait until morning and go to the dining area for a croissant and a coffee. I still feel those things crawling on my skin.
I don’t even try to contact my parents because I do not want them to know I am here. I have light colored wigs that disguise me very well. I want to purchase new wigs. The ones I have now are several years old and look several years old.
I run into an old friend who recognizes me. Her name is Caroline. We went to school together.
“Il faut que tu trouves une place loin d’ici. Les investigateurs viennent ici presque chaque semaine. You are wanted for the bombing in Zurich last year.”
“Quoi? What do you mean? I was in the United States!”
I wanted to get away as far as possible and just go into hiding for a little while. I decided to go to Norway. No one goes to Norway. It is considered so far out of touch with most major cities in Europe, it seems like the perfect place to plant myself and hide out for a little while.
Frankie told me if I needed anything to let her know. I call Frankie.
“I’m in trouble here. I am being investigated for a bombing in Zurich last year. I need to go into hiding for a little while just to regroup.”
“Frank has a friend there in Zurich. Can you get to Zurich?” Frankie gives me Frank’s number and it is arranged to meet his friend in Zurich.
I’m on the train and can feel every bump and curve, hear every squeal of the rails, and feel every stop. My senses are heightened since this started. I examine every single person on the train with me including the ticket takers. Everyone looks like a possible foe. It is getting more difficult to discern the innocent from the guilty. I arrive in Zurich scouting through the crowd for my contact.
Maximilian Schell is a Hollywood actor and an extremely handsome man in real life. I feel myself blushing when I see him holding a sign at the train station that said, ‘Julie Valentine.” I have always assumed the Hollywood screen and the stage makeup make Hollywood actors look better than off screen. I could not be more wrong.
Maximilian Schell was in Zurich to visit. He was raised in Zurich but spends most of his time in Hollywood. He loves to come home to write and be out of the lime light. He made his mark in Hollywood with World War 2 movies.
“Frank has told me so much about you. It is good to meet you in Switzerland and not Hollywood. Frank asked if I could get some more identification for you. I don’t see an issue. I rang up a friend here in Zurich.”
“I cannot thank you and Frank more for your help.”
I am always nervous about getting into a stranger’s car. He drove a brand new candy apple red BMW. The convertible is up because it is chilly outside. Clinging to the black leather seats, I remove my legs and get more comfortable.
He is a gentleman and only doing his friend Frank Carr a favor. We stop at another house. His friend opens the door partway then completely opens it and waves him inside. I watch as they both disappear behind the front door.
I wait in the car playing with the radio dial. There are only a few radio stations in Zurich and it seems there is not one of them I want to listen to.
“Frank asked me to get you more passports. I got 7 of them for you. Use one for a while and switch to another. Tell everyone you are from Belgium, not Switzerland. Go into hiding for a while until you can figure out how to hire a lawyer and plead your case before you are arrested for something you had nothing to do with. Do you still have your hotel room in Lausanne? You can stay here for a while if you like.”
“Thank you for your generosity. I am just going to take a train back to Lausanne.”
“I’ll drive you back. I insist. I could use the fresh air. I have some friends in Lausanne I have not seen in a while and you’re the perfect excuse to pay them a visit.”, He says chuckling.
I just agree with a smile and a nod.
Maximilian is naturally funny and entertaining. I enjoy listening his stories while on the road from Zurich back to Lausanne. Stories about the movies he has been involved in stream effortlessly. I had never been interested in behind the scenes stories but listening to him talk about their on site trailers and the mishaps behind the scenes keep me smiling for most of the ride. He loves Hollywood for the good, the bad and the ugly sides of it. Frank is a very good friend of his. I listen to him while thinking that I have only met Frank for a short time, but his reputation precedes him. We arrive at the hotel before I know it and I thank him for bringing me back.
“It was nice meeting you Julie and I hope everything works out for you.”
He was gone just as fast as he came into my life. I can’t stop thinking about him, his life, and his looks. I know he has no interest in me and I am alright with that. With the possible spy and terrorist charges against me, I don’t see any man taking an interest in me.
I have only had one real man in my life and that is Gorge. Why couldn’t Gorge love me the way that I deserve to be loved. Why couldn’t he be a better man to me. I still love Gorge. That is the sad part. I know he had something to with the kidnapping of our only child. She is his child too. Why would he do this to me? To us? To our child? Why?
Paul never even comes to mind. That whirlwind romance and marriage was the shortest relationship to exist. I just want Paul dead. I hate him with every bone in my body. My replacement still graces the media as if she is me. She took my name and my life to the point no one will come forward for me and no one believes me when I tell them who I am. How is this possible just to steal someone’s life?
Sitting alone in my hotel room and looking out the window, my thoughts don’t stop. I’m the most heartbroken woman that exists in the world. My world is shattered. My dreams crushed. Tears just stream and I don’t stop them at this point. Everything that I believed good in the world looks evil. Bright skies have turned to foreboding dark clouds. Innocence is tarnished. I am jaded. I just need to get away for a while.
Norway seems far away and cold like my life, like my broken heart. I’m leaving tomorrow just to clear my thoughts and get a plan of action. I can regroup and stop thinking about my little girl on the other side of the world and if she is being treated well. I can clear my mind and get an avocat to clear my name and get my stolen life back.
I’m on the train exiting from my Swiss life. It seems I have nothing left here. My family has vacated to their royal life in Rome with Paul. All I can do is cry. Everyone on the train is looking at me. I don’t care. No one knows my pain. No one understands my heart break. No one cares.
I arrive in Oslo. I cash out some of my traveller’s chèques to get a room. Oslo is a charming city. The colorful houses side by side line the waterways. I can imagine the old fishermen who once lived there. Boats docked litter the waterways. I’m checking into the Hotell Bristol.
I love thé statue fountain with the baby grand piano. I pluck around on the piano for a while practicing Bach. My piano skills will always be practicing Bach. The wall decor reminds me a time long gone. It is decorative and charming.
I checked in with one of my fake passport IDs. Claudia Tielt? I kind of like the name but feel closer to Julie Valentine. I repeat it over and over in my mind. ‘My name is Claudia Tielt. I am from Belgium. I live at Rue de La Madeleine 3, Brussels’.
I had a falling out with the woman working at the desk. I paid for my room in cash on arrival but she was insisting that I owed money. I had planned on staying a couple of days here but it is impossible with this horrible woman working here. I ran out of the hotel to look for a new place to call home. I found the Hotell Viking. It looked like just a big block building on the outside but inside it was amazing. I booked by room and prepared to move my belongings to the Viking.
I checked in with a different passport. I had such an argument with that woman that I didn’t want my other name reported to the police. She accused me of being an art thief. Geneviève Lancier Geneviève Lancier Je m’appelle Geneviève Lancier. Ich heiße Geneviève. I haven’t learned any real Norwegian yet except jeg snakker ikke norsk.
The accusation of being an art thief made me decide to go to view a famous artist named Edvard Munch. I’m on the metro to visit the Munch Muesem which is fairly close to the hotel. I long to have a companion to share my thoughts and my experiences with. Looking out the window as the metro grazes over the overpass, I drift in thought back to Bern and those magical moments with Gorge. What happened to my dreams with him? I feel so alone everywhere I go.
The muesem is plastered with big letters on the outside of the building to let me know I have made it to the right place. Inside, it has a combination of new and old smells all wound up into one. I scrutinize each piece in detail as if in an assembly line. I love Edvard Munch. I’m completely fascinated with ‘Ashes’.
The woman looks exactly how I feel, pulling my hair out by the roots because I cannot handle this life anymore while the man I love is so dark and foreboding that I am sure I will end up in ashes.
I take a taxi to get something to eat and continue my Munch tour. I’m at a the Grand Café about 10 minutes from the museum. Edvard Munch once offered to swap the painting ‘Sick Girl’ in return for 100 steak dinners at this café.
It is a quaint local restaurant where there aren’t many tourists. Sursild is the special. I never liked pickled fish so I decide on something a bit more terrain. I order a rare steak et frites like back home. The cuisine is exquisite and delectable. I will definitely revisit the Grand Café.
What a wonderful day with Edvard Munch. I love art mostly in the surreal category. Salvadore Dali is one of my favorite artists. Getting more familiar with Edvard Munch’s Expressionism made me feel instantly closer to Norwegian culture.
The same men who were in the lobby at Hotell Bristol have been in the lobby of Hotell Viking almost since my arrival. I find myself hiding in my room when I’m not out. I put a chair outside my room when I leave just to signal to these stalkers that I am not in my room. I even switched the numbers to throw them off my trail. It seems there is no place that I can hide. Did these men follow me from Lausanne? I did not notice them on the train.
It is March 22, 1970. The men following me are not in the lobby. I check out with my luggage and make a break for it. I take a train to Bergen and I find my way to Hotell Skandia.
My room has a nice view of the boats docked on the beautiful water. I’m not feeling very relaxed in Bergen. Realizing that I have been followed in Oslo completed the shattering of my world.
I spend my days in my room except to go out to eat. I don’t have much money left. It is getting close to making a decision about my return flight to the United States.
I have a meeting with an avocat then I’m leaving to go back to Switzerland.
I decided to leave Norway and go back home to Switzerland to Lausanne in the Canton de Vaud. I decided if I am being followed in Norway, what is the difference between here and home. I can be lost just the same in any place.
Targeted and experimented on since birth 
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