After some time of sitting in the grass, smoking a spliff, I felt refreshed, and ready to keep pushing. I gathered my belongings, and walked back to the highway ramp. I stood there for an hour more, until a car finally stopped, but it didn’t matter anymore. I was determined to get where I wanted to now. The car had a Slovak license plate, and I felt tempted to call it a day, to give up the dream of Prague, and go home, back to comfort. I did my fair share of adventure anyway.
The drivers were two Ukrainians, working for a construction company from Trnava. They even asked me if I wanted to go with them, and laughed when I said I was going to Prague. We couldn’t really talk, as they spoke bad Slovak and abysmal English, but I told them about my adventures in Belgium and the Netherlands.
Since I resolved to continue to Prague, they dropped me off near Schwechat at an important crossroads, on a roundabout. The roundabout was too big, and there wasn’t much space at the exit which I had to take. A car couldn’t stop safely there, so I decided to give each of the three remaining entrances a try, one after the other. I was standing at the first one for five minutes, even less, when a black Mercedes with black windows and Romanian license plate stopped. To be honest, I was scared. I didn’t want to get in. The car looked questionable, and the driver a tad bit dangerous. He got out, and asked me where I was going. I told him that I was going north, to the Czech border. He said he could take me there, almost. He was just too keen on taking me. Apparently, his wife was in a hospital somewhere nearby, and he was going to visit her. I told him that I’m not going with him. He told me that I should go. I have a problem with saying no, so I obliged. There was no turning back.
We talked in the car. He told me about his life in Austria, that his wife was in the hospital, and how he was looking forward to seeing her. He seemed sincere, but I was still a little bit cautious.
After a while, he asked me if I smoked. I said yes. Then he asked me if I smoked weed. I hesitated, then I said yes.
“I just rolled a joint today! My first one! My friends always rolled them for me, but today I did it on my own!” he said proudly, with glowing eyes.
“Nice! Good job!” I honestly didn’t know what to say.
“Take a look,” he said, and tapped a button in the car.
A secret compartment opened, and there it was, a huge spliff, the creation of which he was so proud. It wasn’t perfect, but it was good enough. The filter was taped to the rest of the thing, but whatever. I was rolling my first joints with tea to practice, this was good enough.
“Nice, it doesn’t look like a first joint to me,” I appreciated.
“Do you want to smoke it?” he asked.
What?
“That’s not necessary, thank you,” I smiled, and politely refused.
“No, no, no! Smoke it with me. When we get out of the tunnel, you can light it up.”
“That’s really not necessary,” I tried to argue again, but it was futile. He had his mind set on smoking the first joint that he made with his own hands, that he was so proud of, with the weird Slovak bloke he met ten minutes ago. Fair enough, I guess?
When we got out of the tunnel, I lit up the spliff, and he opened the roof window of his car. We passed the thing as is customary, and I was getting back to the headspace. This weed was pretty strong. The guy was feeling it as well.
When we reached our parting point, we exchanged brief goodbye, and we each went our own way. He went to the hospital, to visit his wife, and I went to the side of the road, to stick out my thumb. I wondered how his wife would react to how stoned he was. At the same time, I was to get in a car with a random person stoned, which was worse.
It didn’t take long until a car stopped for me. Well, not a car. A truck, ladies and gentleman. The first truck in my hitchhiking career. The driver was an older Czech man, a bit of a redneck, but that was good enough – I had a comfortable seat in a ventilated cabin, and a perfect view of the road and the surrounding fields. We didn’t talk much, which was also good enough for me, as he wasn’t really my kind of a guy. He was constantly bitching about something in the radio, and I only nodded everytime he looked at me for a reaction. He drove me to Jihlava. He even looked a bit sad that he couldn’t take me further. I wasn’t sad, this was just enough. Just enough time spent with him, anyway. In Jihlava, I waited for a little while until a young guy took me straight to Prague. Nothing interesting happened on that ride. It was the final one, 24 hours after I started near Den Haag.
We came to Prague in the early evening, and I was starving. I was meeting with a friend who was also staying in Prague at the time, but I needed to eat something before. I entered the first supermarket that I found, and looked for a suitable treat after the long and exhausting journey.
After a while, I settled on a bunch of donuts and some sparkling water. I paid at the counter, mere 50 CZK or even less, when a weird guy came to me, and said:
“Youneedtoopenyourbagsir, security, Ineedtocheckitrightnow!”
“I didn’t steal anything,” I tried to say, but his hands were already in my backpack.
He briefly showed me his badge, and then looked through my things. I was scared. I didn’t steal anything, but I had a few grams of weed inside, which I smuggled all the way from the Netherlands. He found my deodorant before he reached the weed. With an expression of a winner, he proclaimed:
“Ha! Gotcha! This one is full!”
“This one isn’t even from Czech Republic, I bought it in Belgium. You can check it, there’s no text in Czech…”
“Nah, you wait here, I will go and check it with our guys.”
I was so glad he didn’t find the weed, but I was still shaken from the whole encounter. I patiently waited for a few minutes, then he returned with a sad expression.
“You’re lucky. This one isn’t from our shop,” he said. “I’m sorry to put you through this, but you understand, many people come to steal here, and you look…”
Well, how do I look? Do I look like a vagabond? Do I look like a wreck? Do I look like somebody who spent the last 24 hours in cars or at the side of the road? Do I look like somebody who didn’t sleep for 24 hours, and shower for even more?
I smiled again, and left the shop. The donuts were disgusting. I devoured them anyway. I was starving. After my brief dinner, I set off to find my friend. She was staying with her family, and they were nice enough to buy me for a beer. In return, I told them about my journey. After one beer, I was drunk. I was that exhausted. I excused myself, and went looking for the flat in which I was staying. When I found it, I chatted with my host for a while, and I fell asleep. This long long day was just too long, and I needed the rest. Prague was waiting behind the windows, patiently.