Hitchhiking – Part 3

Accommodation establishments where I asked for a work placement were happy about the idea and told me to send them my CV, but when I told them I had sent them not one but two or more mails they made a wry face. In today’s slang one could say they made a poker face. Well, never mind, I thought; I could get work placement at HI Xanascat, but, sadly, there was no opening for me there. Well, I am grateful for their honesty and particularly for how quickly they responded.

Thanks to the nice weather, part of my journey, albeit unplanned as it was already late, included a trip to Lake of Banyoles, situated near the town. That’s right, Banyoles. There’s a HI hostel there, too, namely the Banyoles albergue, but I didn’t know that so I didn’t stop by to give them a nudge.

I was surprised by the nice and warm weather that back then still made swimming in the lake possible. A lake whose beach was crowded with people, which resulted in a pleasant atmosphere. I waded into the water and the feeling reminded of swimming in our Adriatic Sea in September, so I highly recommend a trip to Lake of Banyoles.

As the day of my departure approached, the date of which I chose a bit earlier than necessary because I planned on taking an untested route, Pali came up with something. He thought we could go somewhere, but didn’t have a specific place in mind, so we just sat in the car and looked at the map. I knew from experience that it was best for me to continue towards Barcelona, change direction en route and turn towards France. Pali considered the Can Mach restaurant in the Tapis village in the middle of the Pyrenees where we stopped to eat, and then he dropped me at the last lay-by in Spain. It was a perfect base because everyone stops there due to high petrol prices in France.

I took a walk across the lay-by and checked is there were any Slovenian lorries there, after which I went to the petrol station entrance where I made myself comfortable and waited for someone to pass by. It wasn’t difficult, since there were many people there. I saw a Portuguese lorry with a name plate on the dashboard as is customary for lorry drivers. I can’t recall the name anymore, it was probably Rodrigo or something like that, but it doesn’t matter. I didn’t see the driver because he was most likely at the counter, so I asked another driver who was there if he could give me a ride.

The Romanian driver who lives in the outskirts of Girona and has been working in Spain for years agreed to offer me a ride and I had to wait only a couple of minutes. He was headed towards Marseille, so I still had some time to decide whether to continue through Italy or avoid it and head home through southern Germany instead.

I stopped outside Nîmes where the road diverges north- and eastward. I still had time then but had already decided to continue northward, which was the start of a thrilling journey that will be full of unexpected turns.

The next ride I was able to hitch right away was also my first mistake, but I only figured that out when I stopped outside Lyon, at the start of the A6 motorway at the Les Chères lay-by. Eric and I were caught deep in a conversation and it didn’t even occur to me that I should check traffic flow during the long ride, so I got myself into a muddle before I knew it. In order to have kept moving forward as smoothly as possible and continue down A42, A40 and A39, I would have had to find someone going straight to Besançon when I was still outside Lyon. As a reward, I spent the night at the Aire de service de Mâcon-St-Albain lay-by outside Mâcon.

I stopped there because I knew the lay-by and because I was already aware of my mistake, which was why I didn’t want to make things worse. I wasn’t in a hurry, but Sunday, when I was supposed to start working at the reception at 11 p.m., was fast approaching. After waiting for an hour, Valerie offered me a ride all the way to the last lay-by before the interchange near Beaune. I progressed little by little and only up to Aire de Beaune, but it was an important step on my journey, one I didn’t consider before. It increased my chances of finding someone who was headed towards Besançon on the A36.

It only took me half an hour to find the next ride, so I thought I figured out the major part of my journey, since I simply had to continue towards Germany from there on. Everything went smoothly until the last lay-by, the Porte d’Alsace. I saw the same Portuguese lorry there that I had seen on the Spanish side of the border before. I’m sure of it as it had the same name plate and the same ornaments.

I stopped for a while and had something to eat, and then, while waiting for coffee, got caught in a conversation with a lorry driver from Cadiz. I happened to mention that I need to buy a coffee because it’s two times more expensive across the border. One word let to another and we were heard by the driver’s sectoral colleague. He asked me where I’m headed and I told him I’m going to Karlsruhe, upon which he offered me a ride. It didn’t even occur to me that I could’ve taken the French route that runs parallel with the border, with the German motorway on the other side. It only hit me when it was already too late to jump out of the lorry and walk back to the lay-by on foot. This would’ve undoubtedly been the best choice, even if I had to walk way more than I wanted to. Let me tell you my mistake cost me dearly. It may seem funny now, but it sure wasn’t not even a bit funny back then.

I don’t regret meeting Constantine at all, though he wasn’t the best choice back then, not even close. As a reward for my not asking down which motorway he was headed I ended up on a completely unimportant motorway 65 that had exactly one lay-by all the way to Mannheim, where Constantine was headed. Approximately half way between Landau and Neustadt. The good thing about these lay-bys is that they’re usually near bridges or subways, which makes for a safe road crossing. Not that crossing a motorway would be any less safe but, unless necessary, better not risk it. Therefore, I successfully changed direction and prepared myself (mentally) for a long and quiet night after a short walk from Weinstraße Ost to West while also having luck in that the full moon shone brightly. There was still some hope left.

It was clear that I wouldn’t be leaving that place so easily as most people were headed to Landau and I had to get at least to Karlsruhe, the large city along the route that could potentially cause some trouble the next morning. But more about how I zigzagged across Central Europe next time.