The first night of our journey, we shivered on the front porch of an infamous squat in Vienna. We hoped it would be on the inside instead, but nobody let us in, as we waited until the late evening. As we drank our last beer, B said that he’d better get some sleep, and that I should as well, and I obliged.
In the morning, we set off towards the west. Although the road rolled by pretty quickly, we didn’t get as far as we hoped. We spent quite a lot of time in Salzburg, where I made my first dollar ever, playing guitar on the street. And I lost my map somewhere along the way. What a bummer. When a Slovak gypsy band kicked us out from our (their) spot, we went on.
In the evening, we turned up on a German petrol station. It wasn’t too big, and there definitely wasn’t a good place to camp. We climbed the fence, and went into the nearby forest in hopes of finding some peace and quiet away from the road. B stole a few corn knobs from a nearby field, and we had something fresh to put in our bellies. They were sweet and juciy. We made a fire, and I cooked us some buillon cube. It made us feel good, as the forest was chilly, and wet.
When B said it was time to sleep, and went into his hammock, I climed into my tent. I didn’t get much sleep throughout the night. Although I was exhausted from the long day of hitchhiking, my joke of a sleeping bag wasn’t going to cut it for a wet German forest. I was constantly waking up due to being cold, and I anxiously waited for the morning.
The second day took us to Innsbruck, where we enjoyed our lunch break. We were fast to leave the city compared with Salzburg the day before, but we spent way more time trying to hitch a ride on the highway ramp. After more than two hours of waiting, a car took us to Bregenz, on the border with Switzerland. By the time we got there, it was the evening again. A storm was about to start. With the last light of the day, we found an old hunting tower which we sheltered in for the night. It wasn’t particularly comfy, but at least it kept the rain away.
We sat in silence, and listened to the raindrops on the roof.
On the third day, luck was finally on our side. First, we got to Ulm, and from there to Stuttgart. We didn’t risk getting stuck in the city again, so when a car dropped us off at a petrol station, we called it a day. The place was under reconstruction, and there wasn’t anywhere to put up our tents. If we didn’t want to sleep in the mud, that is. B passed through the place before, and he knew the surrounding area well. A small gate in the fence led us into an area with many gardens. We found a garden shed with a front porch, and settled there for the night. B rambled something about breaking inside, but he didn’t have his bolt cutters on him. I’m glad he didn’t. Staying on the front porch didn’t feel quite right, even without breaking in. I guess my threshold for legal danger was far lower than B’s, or my moral compass was far more sensitive. I spent another night rolling around (as much as laying on a bench allowed), and had some intensive dreams about the owner finding us on his property. Also, it was pretty cold again.
I was up in the wee hours, and as soon as it was at least a bit reasonable, I insisted on leaving. B was angry at first, because he wanted to sleep in, but then he obliged. Before we left, he scored some rubber boots from the garden. Not only did we sleep on someone’s private property, we also stole their things now? B’s idea was that the owner would likely not even notice the boots missing. He was probably right.
The fourth day was far more successful than the previous ones. We finally reached France by the late afternoon, and the evening found us on the outskirts of Besançon, on a big supermarket’s parking lot. It was high time. We needed to restock with baguettes, dijon mustard, beer, and some French wine. Although we still had some few hundred kilometres ahead of us, we were finally in the dream-come-true France, and that was a victory worth celebrating. The air seemed fresher, water more nourishing, and bread… Bread was definitely better.
We both called our girlfriends, telling them about our adventures so far. Neither one seemed interested. Neither one was particularly happy. They both wanted us home, in their beds, leading normal lives. Instead, we were somewhere else, but what did they know? No night spent with them was as good as that night, when we found a spot behind an old warehouse. No bed was as comfortable as concrete lined with cardboard. No sight was as beautiful as the French stars overhead. We spent the last minutes before sleep silent. It was the first night I didn’t shiver.