After my (mis)adventures in Amsterdam, and Rotterdam, I spent the night in some guy’s home gym Leiderdorp. Sleeping on the sweaty, stinky mat wasn’t exactly comfortable, but I was grateful that I could rest my head under a roof. The last two days of weed smoking took its toll on me, and I was more than ready to leave the Netherlands. There was one more thing left to do.
In the morning, I had a quick breakfast: coffee and a cigarette, and I asked for the best directions to get to the beach. My host laughed at me, saying that the sea will be too cold to swim, but that I can write “strand” on my cardboard, and people will know. Having that sorted, I left for the highway.
The highway system in the Netherlands is good, for both hitchhikers and drivers. I stood next to the road, with my cardborad sign saying STRAND, and after 20 minutes a small car with a big man inside stopped. As I got in, the guy told me that he’ll get me closer to the beach, but not straight there. Fair enough.
During a short introduction, he told me that he’s a P. E. teacher in some local high school. He definitely got the vibes. We talked about the state of P. E. in the Netherlands and in Slovakia, while I pretended I knew what I was talking about.
We were driving for 20 minutes when he told he he’s dropping me off. I asked if there was a highway exit nearby, but he said that he’s dropping me off right there, on the highway.
What?
“That’s illegal! I can’t be hitchhiking here!”
“Don’t worry, it’s legal if you sit on the concrete barrier,” he proclaimed as he stopped the car in the emergency lane.
I’m pretty fucked, I thought. What could I do against a bigger and stronger man, who looks like he really doesn’t want me in his car anymore. I gathered my things and said goodbye. He fled right away, and I was left to sitting on the barrier, fearing for my life, doubting that anyone will stop at that spot, except for the inevitable police car. I knew for sure that hitchiking on the highway is a crime, punishable by a considerable fine. With a gust of wind, few pages of my map flew off into oblivion. I was so fucked.
There was no time for crying, as the cars were passing me, so I stuck my thumb out, smiled, and hoped for the best. A car stopped soon in the emergency lane. A godsend.
“I’ll drop you off near the beach. Get in,” the driver said and I was moving again.
The driver was a businessman, selling phones to Pakistan. We got along pretty well. When I told him why I was hitchhiking on that spot, he just shook his head. The journey was quick, and I found myself out of the car, in the center of a small town. The driver told me which way to go, and I had no reason to distrust him.
True enough – the terrain started raising, which seems counterintuitive when you want to get to a beach, but in the Netherlands, it actually makes sense. Since most of the country is below sea level, they needed to build barricades of sand, small hills in fact, on the perimeter of the beaches. So, to get to the sea, you have to go up.
I’m always in awe of the wastness and majesty of the sea when I get a chance to see it. The calm, yet powerful presence does something unexplicable to me. This time, an oil platform was visible in the distance, which added to the strange sensation, as I saw the waves breaking against it’s pillars. There was a huge pier with restaurants and bars, which went deep into the sea. I found a spot near the water, put down my things, and changed into swimwear. Despite the warnings, I went towards the water. It was a hot day, and I needed to cool down a little. Especially before what awaited me.
The water was cold, just like everybody said, and I stayed there only for a short time. Checking another entry from my bucketlist for this trip, I dressed up again, rolled a cigarette, and assessed the situation. It was early afternoon, and I had nothing left to do in this country anymore. I had a fair stash with me – a few grams of weed, some hashish and various paraphernalia, and I was running a little bit low on money already. I didn’t want to return home just yet. No, I wanted to go somewhere else, and that somewhere else was Prague. I checked what left of my maps, and decided on my next steps.
Netherlands seemed pretty clear and easy – get out of the country towards Düsseldorf. Germany seemed a little bit tricky. I could go straight to Prague of course, but I didn’t see any good hitchhiking spot on either one of the key highway crossroads. And, to be honest, I hoped for a long night ride, so I could spend it in a warm car instead of a cold petrol station, or the streets of some random German city. With a rough plan in my mind, I looked at the sea for one last minute, and left the beach. I would spend the whole day like that, looking at the sea, but then the night would come, and with it the realisation that I don’t have anywhere to spend it. With that thought perished all the lightness brought by the sea.
The first car eastwards was easy. The second one as well. Problems started on the last petrol station before German border. It was already late afternoon when I got there, and I really wanted to get out of the Netherlands that day. But, it seemed like nobody wanted to pick me up. This was actually the first time this happened to me on that trip. I usually had to wait 30-40 minutes, at most an hour, but now I was nearing twice that. I was no longer only standing by the exit to highway, with my thumb up. I was going from one parked car to the other, saying hello to people, starting conversations. All the drivers turned me down, most even before I could explain where I was going. Usually, I keep my composure and stay calm. But this time, I was getting more and more frustrated with each car that drove off without me, especially the ones with German license places, and I was panicking on the inside.
When you’re hitchhiking, you’re giving up the certainty of public transport, and you gain something in return. Be it experiences, memories, saved money, or sometimes even saved time. Other times, you’re just waiting, and waiting, and waiting, and there seems to be no end to it. One Dutch guy with a sports car told me he’d have taken me if he went my way. Then, as I was going away from him, defeated, he gave me a banana, saying: “Here, take this, you’re gonna need it. ” And he was right. I was gonna need all energy I could muster, in the next 24 hours, if I wanted to live to tell the tale.
I smoked one cigarette after another, and I was getting more hopeless with each new rejection. I wanted to give up, I wanted to climb the fence barring the petrol station from the outside world, cross the fields to the nearest village, get on the first train anywhere and leave this country once and for all. For some reason though, I endured. I told myself that it’s not as bad as it looks like, that somebody will pick me up. I thought about the car that was about to pick me up, I soothed myself that it just left the garage, that it’s going to be there in no time…
It was 7, the sun was approaching the horizon a little faster than before, and I was still without a ride. I bought a coffee, rolled a millionth cigarette, sat on the pavement and gave up. In that moment, a small, red car stopped next to me.
“Come, I’ll take you to Germany,” a woman’s voice said.
I killed the cigarette, emptied the coffee and got in the car. I didn’t want to risk that she’d change her mind. The driver was a youngish lady, 35-40, and she was driving a small Volkswagen. I told her that I was waiting there for more than 3 hours, and she didn’t want to believe me. We talked about life, I told her about my trip, and my plans for when I’d reach Prague. I’d say I stirred a little bit of wonderlust in her. When we crossed the German border, I asked if it was true that there was no speed limit on the Autobahn.
“Do you want to see?” she laughed.
“Do you want to show me? I’ve never drove faster than 130kph. ”
She pushed the pedal to the ground and the small car was roaring. When the dial showed 170, she released her foot, and let the car slow down. She told me that if we were in a different car, she’d go faster, but that the higher speeds are not too different from 170kph anyway. Until this day, I have to trust her words.
The journey took us a good hour, but then we started nearing Düsseldorf. I wasn’t sure about the best spot for hitchhiking further east, so she took the lead and brought me to a petrol station somewhere. She said that the traffic should be good there and most cars should go in my direction. Getting to the petrol station was a detour for her, which I’m eternally grateful for. With wishes of best luck we parted ways. I was alone again, left to my own devices. I was finally out of the Netherlands, and in a new country, where I didn’t know the language, nor did I know where I exactly was. It was time to find a piece of cardboard, take a good look at what remained of my maps, and start the process all over again.
The sun was already down, and I figured that just standing on the exit from the petrol station won’t cut it now. I had to be more personal, I had to talk to people who smoked their cigarettes, filled their tanks, drank their coffee. A car with Czech licence plates passed me. Fuck them. Deep inside I knew that I’m not spending the night in that place. Or maybe I was just really determined. It wasn’t an option. It was already getting pretty cold, and I didn’t have many more clothes to put on. Deep inside I knew that the car that I dreamed of is nearby.
I bought a Pepsi, and I walked around the building afterwards, scouting the area. There were less and less cars every minute, and I had to be quick. I came in front of the petrol station, near the pumps, and I saw a big white van with polish licence plates. A young man was filling the tank. This could be my chance.
“Dzień dobry!” I said.
“Cześč. ” he replied, confused.
I tried speaking Slovak, but he didn’t understand.
“Are you going to Poland? Can you take me?”
“No, sorry. ”
That wasn’t a good start.
“Where are you going?”
“To Bulgaria. ”
“Can you take me at least part of the way?”
“Why not. Wait here. ”
Bingo. If I was lucky, I was going to spend the whole night in his car, warm , cozy and moving forward to my destination, although with a possible detour. When he returned, we got into the car. I showed him where I was going on the map, and he showed me his route. He was passing Nuremberg, and it looked like a good place to get out. I had at least 4 to 5 hours with him. Nice. He started the car, and we got on our way. After obligatory introductions, he asked me: “Do you smoke?”
“Yes, I answered. ”
“Good, take a cigarette,” he said, handing me his pack.
Great! Not only could I be in the warm car, and move, I could also smoke whenever I wanted.
“Do you smoke weed?” he asked right away.
Now that was unexpected.
“Yes. And you?”
“Of course! Do you have some with you?”
What?
“Ye-s, I have some… I was in the Netherlands, after all. ”
“Me too!” he said proudly, and showed me his hidden stash.
This was going to be an interesting ride.
“Do you smoke when you drive?” I asked.
“Yes, but only a little. You can roll a joint afterwards, but not yet. We need to go to Essen, I have an aunt there. She can’t see me stoned. ”
What?
On the way to Essen we talked, and we got to know each other a little. He was 28, with a kid and a wife. His cargo area was full of airplane parts from the Netherlands, and he was driving them to Sofia in Bulgaria as fast as possible. The job was well paid. He was driving a van instead of a truck, so that he didn’t need to stop for the mandatory breaks, but the van was more of a small truck anyway. He still had a long way ahead and I think he was glad to have company.
It took us maybe an hour to get to Essen. When we were near his aunt’s place, he stopped on a little petrol station on one of the side road.
“You have to get out and wait here. ”
What?
“She can’t see you. You know, too many questions. I’ll pick up some things, take a shower, and I’ll be right back. ”
I didn’t quite believe that. I didn’t know where I was at all, and the prospect of spending the night on a rural German petrol station wasn’t exactly what I wished for. He probably understood that, because he took out a phone form his pocket, and gave it to me.
“Here, take this. Don’t worry, I’ll come back. 20 minutes, and I’ll be back. ”
I got out of the van, with an old phone in my hand that had dead battery, broken display, and no SIM, and I was back where I started. Lost. Scared. Stressed. Cold.
Coping with the situation, I rolled a cigarette, put on the last layer of clothing I had, and looked around. This was worse than I realised – it looked like I was really in the middle of nowehere. Either this was a very small town, or a suburb far away from the center of a big town. I didn’t know where a good place to hitchhike was, and I didn’t know where to find a hotel, had I decided to spend the night in warmth instead. As I finished my cigarette, I ate what little food I had with me. With nothing else left to do, I sat down on a small concrete wall, and got lost in though.
Ten minutes passed, then another ten, and my reverie was interrupted by a roaring engine of a vehicle that stopped next to me.
“Get in! Sorry that it took so long, she had many questions. We have to go now, quick. My boss is already calling me why I’m not moving. ”
I had to laugh, for I was already thinking that he abandoned me. Actually, the possibility wasn’t as far fetched. Either way, I was in the van now, moving towards the east, and that’s what mattered. The driver’s aunt was obviously very caring, because she bought him a lot of bottled water. Maybe too much actually, since the car was already full, my leg space had to be sacrificed. This was inconvenient, but not as much as spending the night who-knows-where in Germany. And now, when the aunt thing was taken care off…
“I’ll roll a spliff, okay?” I asked.
“Yes, do you want some of my weed?”
“Nah, it’s okay, I’ll use mine. We can roll one from your weed later. ”
“Okay, but don’t make it too strong. ”
I got the thing ready in few minutes. We opened the windows – we didn’t stop the car, because the boss wanted it moving – and we smoked. I took two puffs, and then passed the joint to the driver. So responsible. He took two puffs, and handed it back. We passewd it between us like that, and after few minutes he proclaimed: “It’s strong. ” A brief moment of silence, and: “It’s too strong,” followed. Then he took a cigarette and went silent.
He was right, it was strong. I had enough to do in the passenger seat myself. I can’t imagine having to drive instead. I don’t know what I was thinking – getting the driver stoned is never a good idea, but getting him this stoned bordered with a deathwish. He stirred uncomfortably every few minutes, but kept on driving as before, only was he a little more silent.
It was dark in the car, and there wasn’t much to do. I didn’t have enough space to stretch my legs and sleep comfortably, and I couldn’t read a book, even if I had one. The guy was deep in his thoughts, and concentrated on driving, but still, I didn’t want to disturb him. I fell deep into thought myself. I was recaping what I could from the day that passed, and from the trip so far. I tried to make sense of my experiences, but I had to give up after a while, realising that the trip isn’t over yet, and that I still had a lot of experiences ahead. I took out a small notebook with a pen, and I tried writing in the darkness. I couldn’t decipher much of it afterwards, but there were some haiku and thoughts scaterred on the pages. Nothing too deep or worth sharing.
The hours passed, and the kilometers rolled under the wheels. When we approached Nuremberg, the driver broke the silence, and asked me where I wanted to get off. I looked at the map, but I couldn’t find any good place there. Since it was still dark outside, and presumably cold, I decided to stay with him just a little bit longer. We agreed that I’ll get off somewhere in Austria. We both went silent again, and stayed like that most of the time.
The sun rose up, we crossed the border to Austria. I have to say I didn’t want this ride to end. If I had my passport with me, I’d go to Sofia with him without even batting an eye. But I wasn’t sure If I could do that without the passport, and I didn’t want to risk. We stopped on a small, off-the-highway petrol station, roughly 30 kilometers before Vienna. He told me that was where I had to get off. I expressed my sincere gratitude, and wished him good luck on the rest of his trip (he needed it). I watched him storm off into the horizon. It took me few minutes to find the right place to do my thing, and I settled on the highway entry with a sidelane wide enough for trucks to stop, and a good enough traffic.
Despite the conditions being nearly ideal, I seemed to be invisible. All the drivers passed me one after another, most of them without even looking at me. After more than one hour I realised this is going to be slow. I desperately wanted to move, I desperately wanted to get away from this rural, highway-side petrol station where nobody ever went, except for the locals. I saw myself in Prague, walking along her historic streets, bathing in the sunshine. But now, I was tired, beaten, and getting more and more hopeless somewhere in Alland, Austria (I later found this misfortunate place on the map, and it still brings shivers down my spine everytime I pass it), with no prospect of getting away.
I decided to take a break, because the hitchhiking didn’t seem to lead anywhere, and I explored the place instead. The highway was built on a small hill, and you could get on the other side of it. There was a rest area on the other side with a restaurant and a hotel. It looked crowded, and there was a lot of cars in the parking lot. Maybe I could be lucky with personal contact?
I scavenged for rides, trying to make sense of Austrian licence plates. I asked whoever happened to be next to a car. No luck there. But maybe….
I spotted a Slovak car. A young family was standing next to it. A man, 30 at most, a younger woman, and a toddler. They were most likely going on a vacation, or coming back from one. Being the first Slovaks I met on this trip so far, I got a little sentimental. This didn’t last long. When I spoke to them, they ignored me, and after I asked if they could take me to Vienna, the man simply said:
“Leave us alone. ”
That was it. That was the last straw which broke me. I was beaten, I was laying on the ground in a puddle of my own blood, and all they could do was was to stick another knife in my already weak body. Without even saying hello. This encounter shattered my world into tiny little pieces which I was in no position to collect, and I dragged myself away.
I found a small hill behind the building, which I climbed. I needed to get away from people, from everything. I found muself on a meadow where I sat down, and started sobbing. I’m not one to cry often, But at that moment, I felt like a failure, and I felt like nothing good is ever going to happen. Crying seemed like the only way to stay sane now.
After few minutes of sobbing, I realised something. I didn’t hear the rush of the highway anymore, nor the chatter of the people in the parking lot. There was only the chirping of birds and the roar of the wind. A feeling of peace engulfed me. Everything was alright. If I had to stay there for the rest of my life, I would without batting an eye, because I knew everything was alright. I knew I was safe.
I rolled a spliff for myself, smoked, and enjoyed the moment. For the first time since I stood on the beach in the Netherlands I stopped and enjoyed the moment. I didn’t hurry anywhere, I didn’t worry about the next car that would take me. I only listened, breathed and enjoyed life as it unfolded. A song I knew popped into my mind – It’s a long way to go home, before you’re really home, it’s a long long way to get back home…