I was in the final year of high school. Nothing was important to me back then, except for not bothering too much with school, life, or anything else for that matter. It was Friday, and I skipped school on most Fridays. There was usually something more interesting to do, or somebody to hangout with. It was early September, and we wanted to enjoy the last sunny days of that year with friends. We were a bunch of pleasure chasers, wanting to escape the obligations of everyday adult life that sooner or later awaited everyone. Some of us were still in school, others weren’t anymore, but none of us were willing to really grow up. For what it’s worth, we didn’t care. That day, we rolled a spliff, lit it up, and chilled out in a park in a nearby town.
The last days of summer always stir up feelings of wanderlust. I yearn to see the landscape evolve before me as I walk up a new hill or drive on a new road. Usually, this sentiment catches me unprepared, and no matter what, I can’t help but get a little melancholic, and sometimes even depressive. I think about missed adventures and days wasted.
We bathed in the sunlight, talked, laughed, smoked weed, and enjoyed the moments of carelessness brought by the irresponsibility of our youth, disguised as freedom. We were all balancing on a thin line, where life seemed more than easy, where we had to care too little and where we could enjoy too much. We all knew deep inside that it would eventually come to an end. But right there and then, we didn’t want to think about it. So we just enjoyed living.
For lunch, I invited the others to my place. Afterwards, the day went on in the laid-back atmosphere, and people dispersed one by one. In the end, only V, G, and H remained. They, just like me, didn’t want the “party” to end. We felt good, and we didn’t have anything better to do anyway.
“Let’s go somewhere… Let’s go on a road trip,” V suggested.
The whole group agreed on this. I could borrow my mother’s car, but who will pay for the fuel? Our carelessness also meant that we didn’t have much money.
“I’ll pay for the fuel. 40 euros should be enough, right?” asked V.
The last thing to settle was the destination. I had a friend living in Czechia, let’s call him T. We decided to pay him a surprise visit, but first, we had to make sure that he’s going to be home that evening. I called him on the phone, which I never did. It went along the lines of:
“Howdy, T? What are your plans for today?”
“Not much, why?”
“Nothing, I’m just curious. Are you working today?”
“Nope, I’m just chilling at home.”
“Cool, bye.”
Back then, it seemed reasonable. The whole thing. I mean, getting in a car on Friday afternoon with no money and no particular aim, paying a surprise visit to a friend in the Czech Republic. It all seemed reasonable. We set out, and not too long after, we crossed the border and reached uncharted territory.
The road was calm and the weather was nice. Kilometers rolled under the wheels, and G rolled a cigarette for me whenever I needed one. He was sitting in the back with H, and V sat in the front. I have to say that despite his unpredictable nature, he was a pretty good navigator. I feared Brno like the devil. Since I’m from a small town, driving in a big city (Czech people will now laugh at me, right?) always makes me a little stressed. However, with V’s directions, we got through without any issues.
As soon as we were out, I felt a great relief, and the best way to celebrate was to smoke some weed. H held the pipe to my mouth, while G lit it up. I took a good hit and exhaled through the roof window of the car. That’s when I realized that Czech police will test you for THC when they stop you. Well, now I had to roll with it anyway.
We called T a few more times to make sure he’ll really be at home, and ideally not asleep when we arrive. At that point, I think, it was obvious to him that we were planning something, but to us in the car, it still seemed subtle. It’s not that usual – to drive 5 hours to see a friend on Friday evening, but it’s something one could expect from a group of idiots like us.
The remaining 2 hours in the car went by quickly. It was getting dark, but the road passed through small towns and villages only, and there wasn’t much traffic. Before we reached the village where T lived, we stopped at a petrol station to buy a few beers. I parked the car in the center, and we went to T’s house on foot. The village was under reconstruction, and there were road cones all around. G with H had a great idea and stole one of them. They put it in the trunk of the car, which I wasn’t particularly happy about, but they were adamant, so I gave in.
When we finally reached T’s house, there was only one thing left to do. V knocked on the window, and T opened the curtains with an angry “For fuck’s sake…,” but when he saw us, his mouth dropped.
“What are you doing here, you fools? What the fuck are you doing here?” he screamed, surprised.
“We wanted to pay you a visit.”
“Come inside!” he said and opened the door for us.
As soon as we stepped in, we were hit by a pungent smell of an old village house, damp air mixed with who knows what, and we started having second thoughts. Was this really a good idea? Should we have stopped in Brno, and spend the night there instead? T’s room wasn’t any better. The walls were moldy, with old paint falling down, and the whole room was neglected, filthy, and disgusting.
V wasn’t one to pay any mind to people’s feelings. He always said what he thought. Sometimes for better, sometimes for worse. This time, he chose to be authentic in front of T’s mother.
“This place is filthy and disgusting,” he proclaimed. “Yuck, how can you live here? It’s worse than a squat. Let’s go somewhere else for fuck’s sake.”
Leaving her mouth wide open, we got into the car, and T navigated to a remote park next to a small dam, somewhere in the countryside. We drank the beers we bought, and I rolled a joint from the last weed we had, spilling half of it on the ground. So it goes. We talked for a few hours until we were all tired. I realized I will have to drive back home in the morning. The original plan was to leave straight after, but being too tired and stoned to do any safe driving now, I passed on it.
We returned to T’s village, and I parked the car in front of his house. He invited us to sleep inside, but the guys strongly refused, and I did so with them. The prospect of sleeping in the filthy sheets seemed repulsive, even in light of having to spend a night in a car with three other guys. H laid down on the back seats, V folded down the passenger seat, and G kicked the cone out of the trunk, taking the spot for himself. They all fell asleep almost immediately, being drunk, stoned, and exhausted. I was more than ready to follow them.
There was still one more thing left to do. I had to return the cone to its original place. I figured, if the police stops us in the morning, it will be hard enough to explain the poor state of the crew, especially me as the driver, and the possession of the cone won’t particularly help. With T, we took it back, and we returned to the car afterwards. Since he was primarily my friend, I thanked him for his hospitality, and we talked a little more about our lives. Then we both went to sleep.
The night was horrible. Sleeping in the driver’s seat is as comfortable as it sounds. Also, G woke me up at around 4 AM, screaming in the trunk, and I had to open it because he didn’t have enough air. One death warded off. Around 6 AM, I decided to stop trying to fall asleep again, and I woke up the rest of the crew. The sleeping beauty award goes to H on the back seats. The award for the worst sleep goes to me. There was no time to cry because a six-hour journey awaited, and we were glad to leave the filthy place behind. G rolled cigarettes again, and I smoked and drove.
An hour later, we ran out of fuel. Our calculations were wrong, and we had no money for a refill. After a heated discussion, it turned out G had some reserves in his bank account. He reluctantly paid for the fuel, one energy drink for the two of us, and a bottle of water.
The way home was hard, especially for me because I slept for about 2 hours in total, and I just wasn’t feeling the joy and wanderlust from the day before anymore. We got lost in Trenčín. The best thing that could’ve happened. We spent an hour trying to get out. We were exhausted. I’m wondering, why do similar trips always end with me not wanting to embark on them in the first place? It was fun and games until it wasn’t, and reality hit us hard enough to stop us from ever doing such a feat again. At least T’s mother decided to renovate and clean up the house after V’s tantrum left her embarrassed. I guess we can call that a little victory?