Tuesday, October 29, 2013
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…
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…
Monday, October 28, 2013
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.
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
.
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.
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
|
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
|
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.
Sunday, October 27, 2013
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
Tuesday, October 22, 2013
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).
Monday, October 21, 2013
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?
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?
Wednesday, October 9, 2013
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!
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!
Tuesday, October 8, 2013
So, I'm In the Slovakia Tabloids...
I am going to make this a short post, as I just arrived in Prague, Czech Republic and it is 10:30 p.m....and a whole load of things happened on my hitching trip today that I will write about in the morning! However, I do have one greatly interesting thing that even caught the eye of the most popular tabloid in Slovakia...with almost 200,000 readers daily!
About two days ago, the day I was supposed to leave, the hostel was very quiet, we had about 6 guests, at most. One thing leads to another and basically all the females in the common room end up with drawn on mustches and beards. I decide that Victor, one of the owners of the hostel, should shave his face into a Hitler-stache...just for giggles. Victor then turns around and decides that in order for him to go along with our charade, we must do something greater in return of his compliance.
So at about 1 a.m., Victor is chasing Kubo (the other hostel owner), a female guest from England, and I down through the main square in Old Town Bratislava, with a video camera...we three are in nothing but our skivvies, running around the fountain, and back to the hostel, as per the agreement. Victor immediately posts the video on Facebook, so in turn, we get on about shaving his Hitler-stache.
The next morning, we find that someone had turned our video into the tabloids...if you can believe it...and we are now going to be published! So, for your enjoyment, my moment of fame:
Yep....that's me in both the main and inset photo...wearing the Guy Fawkes mask I got when I earned my stripes at the Istanbul protest back in June.
About two days ago, the day I was supposed to leave, the hostel was very quiet, we had about 6 guests, at most. One thing leads to another and basically all the females in the common room end up with drawn on mustches and beards. I decide that Victor, one of the owners of the hostel, should shave his face into a Hitler-stache...just for giggles. Victor then turns around and decides that in order for him to go along with our charade, we must do something greater in return of his compliance.
So at about 1 a.m., Victor is chasing Kubo (the other hostel owner), a female guest from England, and I down through the main square in Old Town Bratislava, with a video camera...we three are in nothing but our skivvies, running around the fountain, and back to the hostel, as per the agreement. Victor immediately posts the video on Facebook, so in turn, we get on about shaving his Hitler-stache.
The next morning, we find that someone had turned our video into the tabloids...if you can believe it...and we are now going to be published! So, for your enjoyment, my moment of fame:
Sunday, October 6, 2013
5 Naked French Men
So, I just realized I forgot to write about something extremely entertaining that happened about three weeks ago.
We had five French guys staying here at the hostel, very good looking, tall, handsome…anyway, I sold quite a few shots to them, and even a bottle of Absinthe. I showed them how to play with the Absinthe, lighting it on fire and such, and we began playing drinking games…this is where they tell me an interesting plan.
So, they were doing a little Eurotrip, and decided that in each major
city they were going to pose for a photo naked in public. Apparently,
they stripped down in Budapest, Hungary, then realized that they didn’t
have a photographer, so they began walking up to people – stark naked –
asking them to take the photo…this is where I get pulled into their
issue…
It is now 3 a.m. and I am working the night shift. I get bothered until I agree to take the photo, out in the square…I figure why not? Ive never had this odd of an opportunity, so might as well. It was cold outside, so I assume the water in the fountain was pretty cold…I got quite a few photos for them with their camera and even a few police officers are in the background! Yep, we got caught…and of course what they did was illegal, but they grabbed their clothes and ran naked through the square, back to the hostel.
Here is the video we took of me doing the “Statue of Liberty” with absinthe:
Absinthe and the Statue of Liberty
We had five French guys staying here at the hostel, very good looking, tall, handsome…anyway, I sold quite a few shots to them, and even a bottle of Absinthe. I showed them how to play with the Absinthe, lighting it on fire and such, and we began playing drinking games…this is where they tell me an interesting plan.
 |
| The fountain the Frenchmen posed on. |
It is now 3 a.m. and I am working the night shift. I get bothered until I agree to take the photo, out in the square…I figure why not? Ive never had this odd of an opportunity, so might as well. It was cold outside, so I assume the water in the fountain was pretty cold…I got quite a few photos for them with their camera and even a few police officers are in the background! Yep, we got caught…and of course what they did was illegal, but they grabbed their clothes and ran naked through the square, back to the hostel.
Absinthe and the Statue of Liberty
Saturday, October 5, 2013
9 Euros for a Two Day Trip? No Problem!
At the hostel I work at I unofficially sell shots, this is my only form of income, so when it came time for me to see Budapest, I only had 12 Euro on me. here’s how I did it:
1. I ate breakfast at my home hostel, so I wouldn’t have to buy anything I didn’t need to buy.
2. When offered food or drink while hitchhiking, I gladly accept, whether or not I am hungry, you never know when you will be near food again.
3. I had two free nights at the hostel I was staying, mainly because I promised that in exchange, I would distribute the fliers from that particular hostel to other hostels, particularly mine, and promised to send them customers (I have already sent about 3). This doesn’t always work, but it is more likely to work when there are a lot of empty beds, and you call ahead to ask.
4. I went the the cheapest bakery nearby and was able to have baked goods with a drink for on average 400 forints, which is a little more than 1 Euro.
5. I spent one whole day sight seeing — for free. I only went to places that were free or extremely cheap to get in, I am into architecture and history, so this isn’t too expensive of a cause. Also, some places will allow you in for a cheaper price if you take fliers from them and drop them at your hostel.
6. If I have anything left, and there are elderly beggars on the street, I give them what I can, not tiny change, but if I am at the end of my trip, I give them what I have left. Don’t worry, it always comes back to you tenfold, TRUST ME!
There were a couple of people at the hostel I stayed at in Budapest that wanted to watch me live off of 2,500 forints for 2 days (I originally had 12 Euro, but was ripped off at the money exchange, always exchange money at a bank if you can.) 2,500 forints is equal to 8.43 Euro, When I arrived back in Bratislava, I had 300 forints left, that’s about 1 Euro.
So, travel to and from Budapest (from Bratislava), two nights sleep, food for both days, and being touristy, only cost me 7.43 Euros, thats $10!
Thursday, October 3, 2013
"Toska," Is The Only Word For It...
Toska:
Vladmir Nabokov describes it best: “No single word in English renders all the shades of toska. At its deepest and most painful, it is a sensation of great spiritual anguish, often without any specific cause. At less morbid levels it is a dull ache of the soul, a longing with nothing to long for, a sick pining, a vague restlessness, mental throes, yearning. In particular cases it may be the desire for somebody of something specific, nostalgia, love-sickness. At the lowest level it grades into ennui, boredom.”
What to say about toska? It is such a great, overwhelming feeling, yet hard to explain. I never understood this great feeling, until I stumbled upon it one day in a magazine…and I realized, that was it, that was what I felt, yet there was no word in the English language to describe it!
When I was growing up, I often yearned for something that I never understood. I felt the need to constantly be elsewhere, but I never knew where that was. I never felt as though I belonged (in high school, you could never pry a certain Russian dictionary from my hands, and I was known to accidentally write homework using the Cyrillic alphabet. I even was known to blast Arabic, Turkish, and Farsi music when no one was home.) In Montana, it is a rough thing to be culturally different.
I was meant to be somewhere else, and I knew it, I was a different
kind of person, and me not really having any friends contributed to my
realization of this. I was a nerd, a “loser,” sitting by myself at
lunch, reading Russian history, the history of the Tsars in particular.
My obsession with the last Romanov family began when I was seven!
The last three months that I was in Alaska before I headed to Turkey, my toska became even stronger, to the point that I felt homesick for a place I didn’t know of. I felt broken-hearted constantly, for no particular reason. I think this is where some people would be told they were medically depressed, and put on pills, at least in America. But I knew better, I wasn’t depressed, but I knew I had to do something with my life other that what I was doing. I wasn’t meant to be wasted away, my life had purpose, and I knew it.
I decided travel was the best way to cure this feeling. I desperately wanted out of the States, I knew I had to get out, that much was certain. So I began my desperate search for any possible means by which I could get out, and that is why I was so quick to turn to that first family in Istanbul. I was willing to risk myself, just to get out.
My toska disappeared when I first set foot on Turkish soil. That was it, I knew I was a traveler, that was the reason for all my pain, I could not imagine a life without travel experiences. Each time I settle for a bit, even just doing hostel work, this toska begins to take affect again, so here I am, in Bratislava for six weeks, feeling the pangs of toska, it is time to head out. I am excited for Monday, just a few days away, to head out on my next hitching journey, and relieve my “homesick” pains of the road.
I thought this might interest some of you, toska took effect on my outward appearance as well, I couldn’t figure out what my feeling was, so I changed so often. These photos begin at the age of 18, keep in mind that I am only 24, but I have changed drastically aver the last six years:
Vladmir Nabokov describes it best: “No single word in English renders all the shades of toska. At its deepest and most painful, it is a sensation of great spiritual anguish, often without any specific cause. At less morbid levels it is a dull ache of the soul, a longing with nothing to long for, a sick pining, a vague restlessness, mental throes, yearning. In particular cases it may be the desire for somebody of something specific, nostalgia, love-sickness. At the lowest level it grades into ennui, boredom.”
What to say about toska? It is such a great, overwhelming feeling, yet hard to explain. I never understood this great feeling, until I stumbled upon it one day in a magazine…and I realized, that was it, that was what I felt, yet there was no word in the English language to describe it!
When I was growing up, I often yearned for something that I never understood. I felt the need to constantly be elsewhere, but I never knew where that was. I never felt as though I belonged (in high school, you could never pry a certain Russian dictionary from my hands, and I was known to accidentally write homework using the Cyrillic alphabet. I even was known to blast Arabic, Turkish, and Farsi music when no one was home.) In Montana, it is a rough thing to be culturally different.
march 2007
The last three months that I was in Alaska before I headed to Turkey, my toska became even stronger, to the point that I felt homesick for a place I didn’t know of. I felt broken-hearted constantly, for no particular reason. I think this is where some people would be told they were medically depressed, and put on pills, at least in America. But I knew better, I wasn’t depressed, but I knew I had to do something with my life other that what I was doing. I wasn’t meant to be wasted away, my life had purpose, and I knew it.
I decided travel was the best way to cure this feeling. I desperately wanted out of the States, I knew I had to get out, that much was certain. So I began my desperate search for any possible means by which I could get out, and that is why I was so quick to turn to that first family in Istanbul. I was willing to risk myself, just to get out.
My toska disappeared when I first set foot on Turkish soil. That was it, I knew I was a traveler, that was the reason for all my pain, I could not imagine a life without travel experiences. Each time I settle for a bit, even just doing hostel work, this toska begins to take affect again, so here I am, in Bratislava for six weeks, feeling the pangs of toska, it is time to head out. I am excited for Monday, just a few days away, to head out on my next hitching journey, and relieve my “homesick” pains of the road.
I thought this might interest some of you, toska took effect on my outward appearance as well, I couldn’t figure out what my feeling was, so I changed so often. These photos begin at the age of 18, keep in mind that I am only 24, but I have changed drastically aver the last six years:
August 2007
2008
2009
2010
2011
2012
2013
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