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Published: August 18th 2006
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As I sit here, on this porch, looking out at these beautiful mountains, I think to myself: how the heck did I get here? Can life really be this organic, this beautiful, this spontaneous if you let it?
So I am here. In the very southern tip of Germany, in the alps, in a small village near a small town called Immenstadt (sp). I am staying with two friends that I met two days ago at a petrol station outside of Salzburg, Austria, and who kindly offered me a ride to come along with them on their travels. We have been here at their home for two nights. It is a really big house, more like a triplex, three houses in one. It was renovated about twenty years ago from its original incarnation, an old cheese factory, into its new form, a house for three families.
I don’t know if it is a good or a bad thing that my first attempt at hitch hiking was successful, because it made me ask myself: why would I travel any other way? I say this is my first time hitch hiking, even though I spent a week traveling with truckers in Cameroon.
For some reason that, to me, didn’t feel as crazy or nerve-wracking as this did, because I think that in Cameroon everything was so starkly different from the reality I knew back home that riding with truckers seemed like an extension of that experience.
On Wednesday I packed my bags and left the hostel headed for the subway station. I was leaving Vienna, with my next deadline being to make it to Bordeaux, France, by the 21st. The previous evening I had spoken with a Viennese man named Rio, he was one of the coordinators for the Dance Web program, the part of the dance festival that Tommy was a part in. I had been told to speak with him because he had lots of experience hitch hiking through Europe. And after my talk with Rio, who had hitchhiked throughout Europe in his younger days as an ultimate Frisbee player as a way to get from tournament to tournament, it seemed like hitch hiking was a great way to travel. Taking Rio’s advice, I took the metro as far west as it would go out of the city. Then I was to look for the bus station, where I
could try to catch a ride.
Things did not go as smoothly as I had hoped; in fact when I exited the Hutteldorf subway station I couldn’t find the bus station. (I later realized that what I was picturing in my head as a bus station was much more elaborate than what was actually there.)
Not seeing the bus station, I began following the road West (I think I was subconsciously avoiding the moment when I would finally be standing there, facing the traffic, with my thumb out and a sign in hand). Eventually the foot path I was following veered away from the road, and I found myself in a residential area, a quaint little park with fields and a playground. I continued on the path until it began to veer again in the direction of the road, until I found myself walking alongside a canal.
Eventually I came across a guy sitting in his car, and asked for his help. I told him where I wanted to go, and he told me to get in the car, and he would take me to a good spot where I would find a ride in that direction. He was a
nice guy, Sven was his name. About my age. He dropped me off near a rest stop on the side of the highway.
I then made my sign, two signs actually, one saying ‘Linz’ and the other saying ‘Salz.’. I was going to try both, see which one would get me a ride first. There were two other travelers at the stop trying to catch a ride to the same place I was.
After about twenty minutes and no cars stopping, a car pulled up and rolled down the window. The man in the car began speaking to me in German, and though I don’t speak a word of German I eventually understood from him that I was not in a good spot for landing a ride to Linz. He motioned for me to get in his car, and so I did. He explained to me that he would take me to a site that was much better. He then got on his phone, explaining to me that he was calling his wife, who spoke English and who could explain to me what to do.
After he had explained the situation to his wife, he handed me the phone. A
woman speaking English with a very strong accent got on the phone.
As I got on the phone with the man’s wife, I began to realize where we were; the man had driven me back to Hutteldorf station, exactly where I had been about an hour and a half before.
I crossed the street and positioned myself in front of the bus stop. Within ten or so minutes, a small red Peuegot pulled over and offered me a ride.
It was Margite and Alessandra, the car that picked me up. Margite is a third grade teacher, Alessandra does work with mentally handicapped children, finishing up her psychology degree in Vienna. They were on their way to Salzburg for a four-day music festival.
They took me as far as Linz.
In Linz it was much more difficult to find a ride. In fact I was there for two hours, during which two other hitchhikers showed up. Eventually all three of us were picked up by a man heading home to Salzburg. He was driving a brand new black Saab, really nice car. He proved wrong my perception that rich people with nice cars aren’t the type to pick up hitchhikers.
The next hour was spent cruising through the Alps with Elvis Presley (and eventually Little Richard) blaring on the radio. He told me all about his work (for Kodak, then for Xerox, and now as director of a steel mill in Hungary), and I told him about my future plans. I find that, in being asked what I plan to do when I return to the US, I often have a different answer every time. Probably because I have no idea exactly what I want to do.
Gerhardt was the drivers' name, I think. And when we got to Salzburg, he gave us two choices: he could drop us off at a hostel to look for a place there, or he could drop us at a petrol station on the side of the highway.
The other two travelers decided to head into town, and I was planning on doing the same, then at the last moment I changed my mind and decided to try my luck at the gas station. By now it was almost 10 PM.
There was some sort of magic working this night, because as we pulled into the station there was a yellow van and a crowd of young guys hovering around it. They were filling their tank, about to take off again. I got out, asked one of them if they were passing through Innsbruck (the next town west), and he said yes. ‘Hop in,’ another said. And so I threw my bag in the back.
It was a crew of seven guys: Kai, Sebastian, Lippy, Ramone, Daniel, Christian, and one more whose name I forgot. They were headed home from a music festival in Budapest.
So the next hours were spent in the back of this old beat-up van, sitting around a table talking to my new friends. We arrived at Daniel and Christian’s house around 3pm.
Tomorrow morning Daniel, Christian, and Johannes (Chris' brother) leave for Geneva, where we will spend our next night. We have heard of an acrobatics parasailing competition there that we will try to catch. Then from there we will drive to Lyon, where I will catch a train to Bordeaux Saturday.
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