I hitchhiked a couple of summers in Europe, in the early-mid nineties, from Copenhagen where I lived through Germany, Belgium, Holland to France and to Spain , and it was a great fun way to travel. I’d really look Down on people taking packaged tours cooped up in buses.
The great thing about hitchhiking is that getting there is really what the journey is about rather than destination. Having arrived where I wanted to go, because i always had a goal, would feel empty and after a day or two I’d be longing to get back on the road.
I had almost exclusively good experiences hitching. A few times I’d feel insecure and slightly intimidated. One of those times was in the very early hours of morning at the outskirts of a small town in the South of France. All accomodation had been occupied because of some sports event so I’d spent the night walking around, dozing off occasionally on the odd bench where I’d come to with a start, so in effect I’d been up all night. Then around six in the morning this guy stopped. He seemed nice enough but maybe it was his scent or the soft music, the way he switched gears or simply the hour and circumstances but almost at once I wanted to get out. Then he propositioned me, and I declined politely, but he persisted and I was shaking and feeling really scared because we were driving through this empty, rural area without a house anywhere or another living being in sight. In the end I told him to either accept my answer or let me out. He apologized and ended up telling me about his life, being in the closet,his wife and what-have-you. After he dropped me off and before we parted he bought me breakfast.
There have been a few such episodes with closet homosexuals but that’s all. Otherwise everybody’s always been very pleasant. Once in Germany I remarked to a ride that everybody was so nice and he coolly replied “die arschlöcher fahren immer vorbei” (the arseholes always drive past). That’s a good point, I think.
This summer my Family and I were on Holiday in France and saw there a few hitchhikers by the motorway. There was even this brave girl trying to bum rides from visitors af the rest stop. Brought back memories and some longing on my part.
My trips are full of fond recollections some touching on the bizarre. Of the latter was a long ride through the night with a trucker WHO asked me if I needed a lift. He probably wanted someone to help him stay awake. He picked me up outside Hamburg and brought me all the way to the Swiss border. Deep in the night he grew still and then he popped a tape in the cassette player, of albums with German trucker country to which he listened with a somber expression. We stopped over for a few hours kip, him in the back and me in the passenger seat. In the morning we had to go separate ways. In the cafeteria I offered to pay for his coffee but he told me that he was sure he made more Money than I did and paid for me instead.
Most rides were fairly anonymous, but I’ve shared picnics with a number of French (who invariably drive around with Water, bread, cheese and chocolate) and, more safety conscious than most nationalities, generally stop every hour and a half to put their feet up and have a snooze. Once I was invited to sleep over by a German midwife (one of the few rides with children in their car). I remember her telling me that it was like I’d always been there.
Hicthing is great for meeting people. It’s a fun way to travel and wonderful for practicing languages and most of all for the unexpected.
