Regarding Travel Pictures...

I have a blog that is strictly photography, I will be updating it bit by bit, I only have a few posts up, but if you are interested, go to: www.akilinastravelphotos.blogspot.com

"I'm gonna eat the shit outta this hot dog," in Bucharest, Romania (after 3 months of no pork in Turkey)

Heartbreak in the States

Aaaaannnnnddddd....

The depression sets in...

To go from hitchhiker experiencing new things almost everyday, with the motto "Do at least one thing a week that you have never done" to going one month doing mundane things, attempting to live as just another average American...eh, I'm sick of it already. I can't do this anymore...I'm going crazy, and I don't know what to do...

I went from freezing freedom to warm depression...I think I would rather be cold, but free without the constraints of what others around me want me to do, as well as what society urges of me, than to be warm and looking for a 9-5 job...my heart aches, but it is winter, and I'm back in the states...

Sometimes...most times...I wish I had just gone back towards Turkey, back to that hostel in Sultanahmet in Istanbul...warm for the winter, then in spring head back in Westwards...I would have been able to hit what I didn't manage to hit while I was in the Schengen Zone...I was just tired of not knowing where I would sleep every night...and Romanian truck drivers.

Its weird to be around family...I feel like no matter what I do, I offend someone, piss someone else off, someone takes what I am saying the wrong way, then relays it to someone else, who then turns around and gets pissed off at me...anything I say isn't worth listening to, I am nothing and nobody...my experiences don't matter, I am still treated as a 3 year old...If I sit I'm in trouble, if I stand I'm in trouble...I wait for someone to do what they say they will do...then I get in trouble for not doing that thing which I must depend on someone else's help for...one day, no one can take me, I will have to find a different place to work, and the next day..."Why didn't you apply there yet?"

I do everything in my power to not say anything against anyone...and I don't! and yet, because everyone is so used to disliking a particular person, they expect me to dislike them, then when said person is in good graces again, all the sudden it was I who supposedly had something against this person (and I don't know why, because I never had problems with said person)... I get to hear the same complaints over and over...

Too much drama...I would rather be on the road, depending on myself, and knowing that if something is messed up, its all on me, and no one else...because here, I am not allowed to speak knowing that someone will pass judgement on to everyone else...

Sometimes, I look out that window, next the the couch which I call my bed...and know that I can just pack up my things and walk out...I can depend on my thumb to get me anywhere...even without a dime in my pockets...I can be free of the drama...but it is snowing...and I have yet to hitch in the snow...

I am back to the strong, horrible feeling of "Toska," and it tears my heart out...I should have never left Europe...I am homesick for nowhere...what does one do about that kind of feeling? How can I get that feeling of freedom, and utter love from the universe back?

...I'm heart broken

Ireland Photos

England Photos

Game Changer

My life changed again…in the span of less then five minutes…
 
One minute, I was sitting in a cold old cottage in Clara, Ireland, and the next minute, my mind was racing to my future…what would happen? But most of all: What will I miss?

I received an email on the 8th of November telling me to call someone that had been bugging me to go back to Alaska; my main concern was to travel until I was over tired, and I had finally gotten there; my body was breaking down slowly at first, but then, I began deteriorating quickly, I couldn’t eat more than once a day if I wanted to…I was cold all of the time, I was actually losing hair! It was time to leave, and I knew it, but without money, what would I do?

So I called the person that emailed me, as he had to me to do. Upon answering the phone, he immediately gave me info in which to buy a ticket to Oregon…I didn’t even ask, and would have never asked in the first place…but since it had been put out on a platter, why not?

I had been having recurring dreams by this time that I was about to get my last ride if I had kept going…I’m sure it was my subconscious playing against me, but something told me it was time to go, especially because this dream had me held up…and in it, something was happening that had made me so scared, I could only inhale quick short breaths, but could  not force a scream.

It was time to go…

So I booked a ticket that would have me flying out that Tuesday, the 12th, from Dublin. I got a surprisingly cheap ticket for less than 500$ from STAtravel, and took it as fate.

I arrived in Portland, Oregon at 6:30 p.m. on the 13th, awestruck that I had made it home alive, I guess it all didn’t really hit me until the plane touched down upon arrival in Chicago, my first step on American soil in nine months…I survived a great ordeal, made the best of it, and was able to travel through several countries in Europe, somewhat safely…living off a couple Euros or Pounds a day.

I lived through the domestic slavery, Turkish water…from the tap, Gezi Park Protests in Istanbul, Turkey, through the protests in Sofia, Bulgaria, over 11,000 km hitchhiking, numerous Romanian truck drivers who harassed me, sleeping in random places, divine kindness from SEVERAL strangers, a few days without food, a lightening storm on the island of Lido, just outside Venice in a tent with metal poles, stomping on my dirty laundry while I was in the shower, just to at least semi-wash it…two torn and cheapo ruck sacks, I made countless friends, became weary of a particular country, and anything in it, lit my hand on fire, made the tabloids in Slovakia…

…Did at least one thing I had never done each week…

My faith in humanity is much greater, I now know that I can survive and assimilate to nearly any situation, I have had the trip of a lifetime, and I DO NOT regret one moment of it, ESPECIALLY the domestic slavery…if that had never happened to me, I would have never accomplished all that I had, never learned to entertain myself while sitting for countless hours on the sides of roads…

As I had said earlier: If someone told me last year that I would be sitting in a random field somewhere in Italy hitchhiking, I would have NEVER believed them!

Thank you, God, for everything you have given me, the good and the bad experiences, and for this crazy life that I can proudly accept without hesitation.

Outside Dublin, Ireland
Nov. 11th, 2013

Getting to Bath

Leaving London on November 1st was a bit tricky. There happened to me a lorrie turned over on the 25 (the road on the outer ring of London). Here's how my day started:

I pack up after staying a few nights at my couchsurfing host's place, and beginning my walk of uncertainty to the nearest road towards the road out of town (at this point, I am in Orpington, London). I walk through the rain puddles and come upon an enormous green field, were I take a bit of video and a photo or two!

As I am dragging my horrid pack I bought in Barcelona down the road, a woman pulls over, and offers a ride to the nearest road headed where I am headed. Wow, didnt even stick out my thumb, and someone pulled over! This is where I spot my first badger...All I could remember about badgers were what my friend Maja from Slovakia had told me...pretty freaky stuff! So, scared shitless (I have no idea how aggressive badgers are..I only know from the honey badger videos on youtube at this point) I am put at a bus stop on the side of the road. I wait here until a driver pulls up in a van, a tyre delivery guy.

Immediatly, the tyre guy makes it known to me that I musn't worry about him...he likes "lady boys." Okay, so what, live your life the way you want. He takes me to a hamberger joint, where I basically scarf down a cheeseburger with a fried egg on it (omg yum!) and this is where we discovered, I'm not getting out of town today, thank you, lorrie driver.

So the old man invites me home, where three Latvians live as well. He orders me pizza at the house, then goes back to work, yet again shocking me about how trustworthy people are. I finish the night eating pizza (the sunlight ended quick, lots of rain, so technically, its only 5 pm) and watching a British game show, which I have easily become addicted to.

The next morning, I am awoken at 5 am to go to the old man's work with him, there is a Latvian driver there who will take me to the right spot, and drop me off at a gas station. At the station, I load up on coffee and a muffin...feeling pretty in love with my life at this point, even though I know at any moment, a badger may come at me (is my thinking).

I sit with my coffee and muffing, awaiting my next ride, who turns out to be a young guy in his 20s, he takes me to another gas station further down the road, in my direction. My next ride: a really awesome Welshman who gives me 10 quid and a couple packs of frozen fish (in case I get somewhere with a stove that night). He drops me at the main turnoff to Bath. Next driver: a college professor (the second one to pick me up! The first was in Italy) He takes me all the way in to Bath, where I take the bus up to the hostel I was supposed to be volunteering at.

Long story short, the old guy trying to be trendy at the Backpacker's hostel was a douche to say the least. He had no idea what I was talking about, couldn't be bothered to offer any help, and kept changing his stories...after standing by the road with a sign for Bristol for over 4 hours in the freezing rain, a kid approaches me, and in a weird way attempts to help, by asking me to lie to his parents, telling them I was a foreign exchange student he went to school with...needless to say, I was uncomfortable with this so I stayed elsewhere for the next few nights.



On November 5th, Guy Fawkes Day, I headed out towards Fishguard.

Breaking Through UK Customs

On October 27, I headed out towards the UK, knowing that I may possibly pass through border control, due to my lack of funds. I took a bus from Charles De Gaulle in Paris to London Victoria Station, It was quite a nice ride, lets recap the night before I hopped on the bus…

Due to the people Marina and I were couch surfing with, we needed to rush out as soon as possible (the people had new plans), so I headed to Charles De Gaulle to catch the last bus to London, while Marina stayed behind to find a new host for herself. Needless to say, I didn’t make the last bus. Each pass from Paris to Charles De Gaulle is about 10 Euro, and as I had quite little money, I decided not to go through the fuss of transfers and such, as my new bag is yet again breaking down, the Paris transport is insanely confusing and often unmarked, and just plain not caring where I would sleep that night.

So the night of the 27th, I ended up harassed by French immigration, who decided I was okay, and should sleep at the airport…which I ended up doing. I slept a couple hours, and awoke to a large crown of people speaking Arabic. I decided to check out the buzz, it was about 2 a.m. on the 28th and people were gathering to meet loved ones, who were apparently coming in from a flight from the East. Dates, figs, and other Arabic goodies were being passed around, as well as tea, and were shared with me. I guess I became excited for these people, who had created their own welcome party, complete with food and music, in the terminal I decided to sleep in. At about 5 a.m. they were gone, and the terminal was empty and quiet again.

At 7a.m. the ticket office opened, I could now finally buy my ticket to London, which the bus would leave in an hour. I get to the office, and find that they only accept cards, and I only have cash. Imagine my disappointment when I realize that I may have just slept very little and uncomfortably at the airport, only to find out there may not have now been a reason for it! An airport took pity on me, and offered to help, giant weight lifted from my shoulders!

My next issue is worrying about British customs. We get through the French border with no issues, and climb back off the bus to enter into England, just before the tunnel under the Channel. Americans were separated from the rest of the group, and while everyone else was ushered through, no questions asked, Americans had to fill out paperwork, and go through quite rough questioning.

With my luck, I got the harshest officer. I watched as all of the other Americans passed through the line smoothly, while I was being held behind, being pulled through harsher and harsher questions. It was then that I decided that I would be okay with being stopped at the border; that may mean a ticket home for me. For some reason that day was the day I had chosen to not lie to customs at all, poor lady probably didn’t know how to respond to someone being so painfully truthful.

“How much money do you have in your pocket?”

“How much at your disposal?”

“How long will you be here?”

“With whom are you staying?”

“How do you know them?”

“Why did you spend one month in Romania? Three months in Turkey? Two months in Slovakia?”

“What kind of work do you do?”

“How have you funded your trip?”

“Look me in the eye, and promise me you wont work in the UK.”

“Stop smiling and promise you wont work here.”

Can you believe it? I answered every question truthful, and the bat let me through, I was shocked, but I think it may be partially due to the fact that my Schengen visa would expire in a couple hours. Or I had a friendly smile?  

France Photos

Thoughts of a Disgruntled Hitchhiker / The Hitch From Barcelona to Paris

Ah! This hitch was particularly a great nuisance…not only did it take my Russian friend Marina and I over eight hours to be picked up, I had issues with my luggage, and the timing of just getting out of Barcelona!
The day we knew we would hitch out of Barcelona (October 22nd), I wanted to head out onto the road first thing in the morning. Most hitchers know that this is the correct way of going about things. However, due to an Apple appointment Marina had made, my first bag falling to pieces, getting 15 Euro for the second bag, the second bag being defective…we didn’t get out onto the road until about 7 p.m. When we finally got to a gas station out of the city, we still weren’t picked up until about 2 or 3 a.m.

I have a hitcher’s code when it comes to hitching with friends. Basically, if one person is uncomfortable about the ride, both must get out, until they find a ride that is comforting to BOTH. Marina and I were picked up by two “Yugoslavian” men…annoying beyond belief, who I had only got in with since we were only going to ride to the next gas station with them. Marina became comfortable with their weirdness (she was annoyed a lot as well though), and we ended up riding all the way to Paris with them…If I was alone, I would have NEVER gotten into the car with them…so, I spent over 12 hours in a car with two men I was COMPLETELY uncomfortable with, because Marina didn’t want to get out of the car. I still think we would have fared much better if we had had a few different rides, rather than one long, annoying one!
So, here are the musings of a supremely annoyed hitchhiker:


October 23rd, 2013  approx. 2 p.m., France

Marina and I are currently in the car with 2 men from “Yugoslavia.” they picked us up from a Shell station outside of Barcelona at about 3 a.m., we are still in the care headed to Paris.

These men are awkward, we speak to them using Russian, Spanish, French, tiny amounts of English…I am extremely annoyed by them. They are the “every woman wants me” men, no matter how ugly, smelly, and idiotic they are. One tried telling us he is only 32 (more like 52) and not married (I see a tan line where his wedding ring was).

They speak nothing but nonsense, repeating the same things over and over again, our brains are exhausted from this nonsense. I tell Marina that we should have them drop us off, they smell like bad B.O. while trying to look classy by wearing business suits. One tells us he thinks he looks like Antonio Banderas, Marina and I exchange glances while we roll our eyes…

they drive like idiots! Had I only known they were Serbian, I wouldn’t have left with them…Marina just really wanted to get to Paris, so we put up with all of this, even though I know we can get a better ride.

They received a phone call and are now yelling at one another, the car is now going 200km/h…
They asked Marina and I to smuggle gold and diamonds for them from Spain to France at 3-5,000 euro/trip. No thanks! So I assume the yelling is about their business. It smells like armpits again, the driver keeps sticking his elbow on the window… 
\
140 km to Paris! The passenger (the worse of the two) continually puts his left hand on the back of the head rest of the driver, presumable to show off his ring-free hand, I ask him what his wife thinks of his “business,” he answers “I don’t have a girlfriend.” I don't know if that’s his smart ass answer to my question, or if he is bypassing my “wife” comment. 

They have asked me to speak Arabic with them (and they respond with incorrect responses when I do)…Just a couple of clueless, Ignorant Eastern European men…


We finally arrive in Paris, and within a couple hours, we see the Eiffel Tower for the first time in our lives…

Couchsurfing Letdowns/Barcelona Antics

I arrived in Barcelona on the 18th of October with a couple of couch requests already set up, just in case one fell through. When I arrived, I got a hold of the first person who promised a couch, finding that the person was headed out to Madrid in an hour, and had not told me of the change in plans. Okay, so I had another person who invited me. I don’t carry a phone, making my experience that much more difficult, but this can be overcome by using my laptop. So I head to the McDonald’s at the train station to find they have no plugs for my computer. I wonder around the station a bit, searching for any plug possible, when I find one!

I get into contact with the person who had invited me on couchsurfing, who says they live a 15 minute walk away from the train station. Well, 15 minutes for someone with nothing on their back and in their hands is just that, 15 minutes. But for someone with 20 kilo on their back, and things in their hands is more like a 30 minute walk, especially when you don’t have a map, and your backpack is made to kill you, not help you (again, thanks Romania).

I decide to try to find another place to crash because for whatever reason, this person makes me feel not uneasy, but annoyed. I tell him I will just search or sleep at the station, no problem, but I cannot go wondering about the streets looking for his place with all the weight and having had no food, and no sleep for the past two nights. He continues to bug me about going over, and as I still had no other requests, I decided to try it out.

I get there after wandering around for a bit (it took 45 minutes), and meet up with this guy from Peru, who is obviously stoned out of his mind. Okay, that’s fine, all I need is a place to sleep, stoned people are pretty calm and slow, so whatever. I get upstairs and decide its time to sleep, I lay on the floor, and am just passing out when he walks up to me, and tells me his friends just called and want to go surfing in the morning, so I have to leave at 6 a.m.

I haven’t slept in over two days and it is now 2 a.m. and this guy wants me to leave at 6 a.m. when I could have just found a different place to go? I knew that my friend Marina was at a hostel near Sagrada Familia, that it was cheap (7 Euros), and grabbed my things to leave. He began whining about how I was being unfair and I was being crazy, I got into the elevator and he held to door open, telling me I could sleep there, i just needed to leave at 6. I kept telling him to let the door close, all I wanted was sleep, just leave me alone, I just want to fucking sleep, I began screaming, he wouldn’t get it through his head, and finally he let the door close, cussing at me. Fine, I am leaving, thank God.

I get outside, and have no idea where Sagrada Familia is, so I hail a cab. Expensive, but public transport was done by this time, and I had a little bit of money to get me somewhere, especially because I was so desperate for a place to sleep. I tell the cab about the hostel, and with my luck, he has no idea what a hostel is, or where it is, so I tell him to leave me at Sagrada Familia, and I will find it.

I wonder around Sagrada a bit, asking about the hostel, no one seems to know where it is, or even what a hostel is. Two young Spanish girls decided to help me, one takes my tent, the other my computer, and we begin trekking the hill, up and down, looking for the hostel. Finally, we find it, and they help me to the reception. Reception at this hostel was pretty terrible. But I finally got a bed, and found Marina.

The next morning, we send out couch requests, turns out she is in a situation similar to mine, no money, we are on our last few euros for food. We go on the Free Barcelona Tour, and see the amazing bazaar in Barcelona, we get fresh figs and a fruit cup, as well as a couple of sticks with meat on it.

Marina at Mercat de La Boqueria

Night time comes, and we are in contact with someone from couchsurfing. So we go back to the hostel to get our things, when we lose contact with the couch request we got, no longer is he responding. So, we stay another night at the hostel. Up in the morning, we immediately send out more requests and head off to Park Guell.

From Park Guell, we go to the beach. Finally, a couch request at night. We head there and met up with a guy from Argentina at the metro stop he told us to go to. He is very nice, only hosted once before, but had a great reference. So we spent two nights at his place
.

Barceloneta Beach

On October 22nd, we begin our hitch. Our money has greatly dwindled, we had put our money together, and by this time had twenty Euro between the two of us. I had ditched my horrid backpack at the hostel, taking only things I ABSOLUTELY needed and put them in a cheapo 15 Euro case I had bought which had wheels. I also had to ditch Ol’ Blue, my tent.

Our trek towards the highway turned bad quite quickly. One of the wheels on my new back was defective, it was leaning inward and dragging, making my back tilt, causing the material to tear and wear down. At one point, the bag twisted over and was dragged a few seconds, resulting in a large gash along the side of it. I am exhausted from yet another terrible experience with bags, so we chance a stop at a Chinese Basar. I am sold a bag carrier for 5 Euro, metal with wheels and a cord to tie the bag to it. And, of course, the handle for this new carrier breaks within 10 minutes.  So we prop the bag upwards, tie it down, and use the handle from the bag itself, and the wheels from the carrier.

Someone takes pity on us, and takes us to a gas station out-of-town, in the direction of Perpignan, France, We spend a total of eight hours trying to hitch a ride before we finally get someone to pick us up.

Amsterdam to Paris…Wait…Barcelona?

So on my trek from Amsterdam; I encountered quite a few difficulties! I hitched out of the spot that is set aside for hitchhikers leaving Amsterdam, which was well enough. The guy who picked me up (mid 40s) decided that my blog sounded boring, and what could a person my age have anything interesting to say anyway? He assumes I talk to myself on the blog, and according to him, I shouldn’t have any followers…thanks!

The next people to pick me up was a car full of Muslim women from Morocco. They were sweet, gave me an umbrella, some apples, and a knife….yes! A knife! At first I thought it was for the apples, which I was going to eat then return the knife to them. One of the girls says “keep it…one of these days a man will try to get smart with you!” Those girls were awesome! They took me to the outskirts of Antwerp, Belgium.

I got stuck for a few hours at this gas station (the girls had run in and arranged with the cashiers to help me get a ride by asking everyone that arrived at the station). Finally, I was picked up by someone headed to Calais, France, which was not my exact direction, but still France! I was dropped off at the turn off where he would go north, since I was headed south.

The next driver to pick me up was Romanian…uh! I hate to say this, but had I known before hand, I would not have gotten into the truck with him, those guys usually give women travelers a hard time…which is what he did, and again with the HORRIBLE driving! I kept telling him to stop at the next station; he kept replying “This one is no good.” He promised to drop me outside of Paris, and I watched as we drove right through it, and kept going, until I screamed at him. I guess these guys don’t know how to listen to a woman until she screams! He finally drops me off, in a horrible place, on a highway that makes it extremely difficult to turn around back towards Paris. I sleep this night on a few chairs inside the gas station, where no one can see me, pretty sad, huh? So, I decide, why not make lemonade from Lemons? I'm in the direction of Barcelona, which I have wanted to see because of Sagrada Familia. So, I began my long trek towards Spain.

I get near the bottom of France and again have no place to go for the night, luckily, the station I was at had wifi and was open all night. This night, I don’t even attempt to sleep; I read and mess around on the internet instead. Enter Spanish truck driver at 7 a.m. I get into the truck, tired out of my mind, but willing myself not to sleep, because that’s just completely unsafe, and even more reckless than I already am. He turns and says “We will get stopped at the France/Spain border, if they ask you who you are, we are like this (enter horrible hand movement here).” I tell him he needs to drop me off immediately, first, because there is no border patrol in the Schengen Zone, so why did he bring that up? Second, there is no reason to say nasty things; border patrol doesn’t care about hitchhikers being picked up!

I am dropped at a station a few kilometers from the border of Spain, still in France. I'm not going to say where I slept at this point, it was daylight, and safe, and I was in a good spot, so, I won’t say where I slept; just know that I got three hours of sleep. By this time, I was FURIOUS with any sort of male being that came within 200 meters of me, and really, I just wanted to punch men in the face. I walk around the gas station, get yelled at by a few truckers looking for some other kind of woman, then I walk past a few who don’t have the decency to walk 100 meters to the bathroom, several other problems…yea, I just wanted to throw things at every male around.

Finally a female picks me up, and she is going all the way to Barcelona! Spain is extremely different in temperature compared to that of Paris, France; it was really warm! I got into Barcelona at around 4 p.m. that day and roughed it to the train station looking for wifi (Mc Donald’s is at the train station, however, there is not a single plug in Mc D’s and only ONE plug in throughout all the halls of the train station.) my computer doesn’t hold a charge longer five minutes, and the cord to charge the computer is messed up as well.

…To be continued

The Hitch From Prague to Amsterdam

Prague was an amazing city! I have some sort of odd obsession with architecture and bridges, so if you are like me, I suggest you see Prague!

I began my hitching journey from Prague at about 10:30 a.m. on October 10th. As I was heading to the highway (with 20 kilos on my back, a tent in one hand, and my computer in the other, I passed a sketchy man leaning against the wall of a building. Soon, I heard running footsteps behind me, and I flipped around. Rather than be scared, I was extremely pissed off, in fact I yelled at the man for running up behind a woman, to which he apologized repeatedly, and sauntered off. So, as a note to men, don't run up behind a lone female, especially one that is traveling alone, I am pretty sure I would have beat him with my backpack if he hadn't looked so scared about my response.

Anyway, I began my trip to Amsterdam with a rough start. I took the metro to a specific part of the city that I was told would be a great point to head out of, instead, I found myself stuck for four hours in one spot. Frustrated, I walked to the train station, and took the bus to Plzen, Czech Republic (5 Euro). I arrived to an extremely rainy city, which was fast becoming more dark (It's now about 5 or 6 p.m.). I decide I'm not heading very far, I'm too lazy/tired to walk to the highway which was two kilometers away, so I began to start hitchhiking in the city from a bus stop.

I was soon picked up and taken to small town on the very border with Germany, where it was still raining, but now I had a gas station to hang out in for a bit. Before long, a Romanian truck driver picked me up, and soon we were headed towards Nuremberg, Germany.

We reach the outskirts of Nuremberg, and I am shuffled to another truck who was heading the same way I was trying to get. This driver was Romanian as well, crosses and religious items placed about the inside of the truck. He began our journey talking badly about other religions, and tearing his work card up (the one showing that he had already driven his limit for the day) and started a new work card.

I cannot explain to you how much I disliked this guy! It was night time, he apparently hadn't slept in a great amount of time, was eating sunflower seeds (which he proved that he didn't know how to drive and eat at the same time), and began driving off the road, and not just once or twice, but several times I had to yell at him! I kept telling him, let me out let me out, and he just responded "not a good place, no good place." Needless to say, I didn't sleep one minute that night and found myself in Cologne, Germany quite early in the morning the next day.

By this time, I should have been in Amsterdam, he stopped several times, no no reason that I could gather, and I was quite angry about that. In Cologne, he just sat there and I bugged him to get going...finally he blurted out "No sex?" I screamed at him, told him to go F*** himself, that he should be ashamed of himself, told him he was a disgusting excuse of a MARRIED  and "RELIGIOUS" man, and got out, he grabbed my bag to throw it down to me, and decided to tear it, not that its hard to tear at all, sadly, that bag is quite easy to destroy...it was made in Romania.

I walked into the truck station and told the office people what happened and that I needed to know how to get back on the highway. Soon, a young Turkish man appeared and was told to drive me to whichever gas station I needed. He drove me up and down the highway from station to station looking for a good ride for me to take, he personally got out of the car and asked, trying to make sure I ended up with a good person. It soon became clear we wouldn't find someone, and he had to get back to work, so I told him to leave me at the station, I could figure it out.

I was now walking through the trucks looking for a Netherlands truck, running from all the Serbian, Macedonian, and Romanian trucks. I was picked up by a trucker from Utrecht, Netherlands, his name was Bjorn. he took me 50 kilometers outside of Amsterdam, it is now about 8 p.m.

I sit outside of the gas station and wait for my next ride. I wait about an hour, and soon a Turkish man picks me up (he was raised in Amsterdam), This guy was hilarious, talking to me about the last hitchhiker he picked up, and how he swore to himself he would never pick up another...He told me stories of growing up, until we finally reached my destination, he took me all the way to my friends' apartment in the city....where I party a few more hours (on no sleep in two days).

Amsterdam

Surprisingly, I don’t have much to say about Amsterdam, other than it was BEAUTIFUL! I stayed in Amsterdam for five nights, most of which were rainy.

I hitchhiked from Prague to Amsterdam on October 11th  in one day, I arrived to my friend’s place in Amsterdam at around 10:30 p.m. after a series of interesting/crappy rides (p.s. I will NEVER ride with an Eastern European truck driver again!) I will tell the stories later, I even have a bit of video to post when I get a better connection!

My first night in Amsterdam, I arrived to an apartment full of drunk, rowdy guys, gearing up for a goodbye party to one of the guys that stayed at the hostel in Bratislava. a few tequila shots, and lots of BSing later, I was riding sideways on the back of my friend’s bike, on our way to another party, which was being held in old “nunery.”

By the time we were headed out, I had what I like to call the “Tequila giggles.” I could not for the life of me, get on the back of the bike, and insisted I was sober enough to ride the bike myself…I really wasn’t though. We finally arrived back to the original apartment, and for the next four days, it rained.

I did the normal things you do while in Amsterdam, see the historical sites, architecture, and the Red Light District, of course! I also decided to try a “space cake.” When in Rome, do as the Romans do, right?

8 Euros in Prague, Czech Republic

Yesterday morning I said my goodbyes to the other staff at Wild Elephant’s Hostel in Bratislava, and headed out to Prague, Czech Republic on my grand hitching route! My pack is by far too heavy, so tonight I must repack it a bit, get rid of a few things…I must warn you, this will be a boring post!

I made it to the highway point outside Bratislava, and sat down, just a hitchhiker with seven muffins (Maja made them for my trip). Soon, another lone female hitchhiker walks up and sits next to me, her name is Anna, she’s from Hungary. We chat a bit and wait about 2 hours. We are dropped off in a pretty horrible spot, as there aren’t any petrol stations in between the cities the people were traveling to, so now, we are stuck, hitching in the middle of a highway median. We are soon picked up by a man from Russia who is Muslim, thank God I speak a bit Russian, we converse about where he is from, what he does for work, and such things, possibly leaving Anna confused about what we were talking about.

We get into Prague about 7 p.m. and are dropped off in Old Town, where we separate ways. I get online to look at Couchsurfing, but it turns out I can go to a hostel and have a couple nights free, so I walk two km with my over heavy pack and tent. At this point, I have a few apples, some pears, carrot muffins, some kind of Soviet wafers and two large chocolate bars, ten Euro in my pocket and 100 Czech Crowns (about four Euro).

I ate an apple and a few muffins on my trip to Prague, so I am now down to two muffins, but I still have everything else. I wondered around Prague for about four hours today, saw all the tourist attractions, then headed back to the hostel to rest. I spent a total of eight Euro for food and batteries for the camera, and tomorrow, I will head out on a long stretch to Amsterdam, 877 km away. Right now, nothing is better than sitting with a free beer and  listening to good music in a warm hostel!