Posts Tagged ‘vagabond’

Part VII- Amsterdam- Home

Sunday, October 5th, 2014

Day 20

Dineke dropped me at a service station on the motorway between Sassenheim and Den Haag, and I waited about 90 minutes before getting picked up by Martin, Who’d just started a marine salvage business. He took me to a service station near Rotterdam, and I was walking to the exit when a car pulled up and offered me a ride. This was Vosie, whose name I hope I’m spelling correctly,who’d recently opened a fish restaurant and cafe in Antwerp; he gave me a bottle of water and a pastry, and took me just over the border into Belgium. We passed the service station where Mike and Leah had picked me up on my way into Amsterdam just a few days before, and he dropped me off at the next one, about 10km down the road.

On reflection, this was a bad decision on my part- this was a smaller service station, and there were no junctions between it and the last one. I got to the exit, and waited. After ten minutes, I started freaking out. Why had I come to this place, why hadn’t I stoped at the previous one? Should I cross the road and hitch back up to it? Would I ever get out of here? After 20 minutes, I had a ride to Dover.

Needless to say, I could not believe my good luck. This was Gregor, a Polish truck driver. We pulled off, got stuck in traffic jam, and I couldn’t have been happier.

After travelling through the industrial wasteland that surrounds the ferryports of Calais, and being depressed by the sheer number of immigrants in lay-bys and camps, trying to make it to the UK, we arrived at passport control. I’m not sure what happened next, because it was all in Polish, but Gregor somehow got me listed as a backup driver. This meant that when we got on board, I got a free meal in the driver’s canteen.

On the ferry, in the wingmirror.

On the ferry, in the wingmirror.

I asked around on the ferry for anyone who was heading to London, but no one was, or their cars were full. I went to the stairs to the vehicle deck to wait, still holding my sign for London, but no one approached. I got down to the vehicle deck when the doors were opened, and waited by Gregor’s truck. Suddenly, there was a shout, and some people beckoned me over.

“You’re going to London?“ they said

“Yes, could I have a ride?“

“Yes, if you can show us the way.“

Back in England, I turned on the data on my phone, and found us a route. I got them to take me to Sutton, so I could get a bus to Bryony and Phil’s, and then wrote down the directions from there to where they were going in Chelsea. I hope they made it ok!

I spent that night with Bryony and Phil, and the next day as well. Phil gave me Roundcat, who’s become my mascot, and walked me to the station in Carshalton. After that, I caught a bunch of trains and tubes out to Gunnersbury, at the beginning of the M4, and waited 20 seconds for a ride to Bristol. The final day (I hoped) couldn’t have got off to a better start, or so I thought until I tried to get a ride out of Leigh Delamere services for the M5. From there, it was a punishing 6 rides to Exeter, stopping at literally all but one of the service stations on the M5, before finally getting a ride to Plymouth. All of these rides were wonderful, and I wish I’d written more about them, but being back in England meant being able to chat, and so I didn’t take nearly so many notes.

Ah, roundcat.

Ah, roundcat.

During the last few days of the trip, I started thinking all the stupid end of trip stuff, all What Has This Trip Taught Me and such. I’d come a long way since the stress and anxiety of the first few days, on the way down through France, but it still comes back to me when I’m in a bad spot. In a good spot, I’ll happily wait for 6 hours, but in a bad spot, I’ll be freaking out after ten minutes. The main cause of stress on this trip was when I imposed time limits on myself, when I wanted to be somewhere at a certain time, and then was bummed out by not making it. Then there was the elation of reaching a destination, tempered by the anxiety of leaving it. A lot of the hard parts of this trip would have been made easier by having company; that said, I’ve done a great many things in my life where I wished I had someone to share them with, and I don’t think this was one of them. Sure, the long waits and anxiety of leaving would have been a lot easier with company, but the connections that I made, and the experiences I had, would have been diluted, I think. That’s not to say that I’ll always travel alone, just that I’m really glad I did the first time.

56- final

I totally intended to bring you the final statistics here, but I can’t work them out exactly. Roughly:

Total distance (whole trip) 4400km (2735miles)

Total wait time: 42 hours

Total time: 22 days

Part VI- Amsterdam!

Monday, July 21st, 2014

Day 17

I’ll be honest, this post is 90% family photos, so don’t feel like you have to read it. In fact, why not go back and reread the part where I swam in a lake with some hippies? That was wild.

Amy very kindly gave up her bed for me that night, and, in keeping with my theme of photographing the places I slept, here you go:

Best bed of the trip.

Best bed of the trip.

The next morning, we had to get up early to go and meet Team Tante Zoe from the airport. I knew it would be an early start, but nonetheless was rather caught of guard when Amy appeared at the door and said “Clothes!“. I said “Mmmf. Ok, here’s what we’re going to do. I’m going to hide under the covers, then you can turn the light on and get your clothes. Then turn it off again.“

Amy performed her part in this exceptionally well, but I still had to get up. On the plus side, I had bread with hagelslag for breakfast. It’s a Dutch thing.

We went to meet Team Tante Zoe at the airport, and then she, Alex, Amy, and I went on into Amsterdam, while Dineke and Callum went home.

Cute.

Cute.

After finding our bearings in Amsterdam, we went on a boat tour.

WHAT IS WRONG WITH MY FACE

WHAT IS WRONG WITH MY FACE

We saw many fascinating sights, including bastions of Amsterdam’s golden age, Anne Frank’s house, and the largest floating chinese restaurant in Europe.

This is the largest floating chinese restaurant in Europe.

This is the largest floating chinese restaurant in Europe.

After the boat tour, we went to Nemo, the science museum. Here is a picture of Amy in a bubble:

Bubble!

Bubble!

As it turned out, to get to the museum we had to walk past the largest floating chinese restaurant in europe.

Zoe being a.. whatever that thing next to her is. Is it a dragon?

Zoe being a.. whatever that thing next to her is. Is it a dragon?

Callum’s birthday was the next day, so we decorated the house that evening, and Dineke decorated his splendid cake.

Since Zoe had arrived, she took Amy’s bed, and I slept in the attic.

Attic! Not as good as Amy's bed, but still good.

Attic! Not as good as Amy’s bed, but still good.

On Sunday morning, we celebrated Callum’s birthday with some of Dineke’s family, and had many cups of truly breathtaking tea.

Callum is freaking PRECIOUS

Callum is freaking PRECIOUS

I had my juggling balls with me, and Amy had watched me juggle a bit the day before. Today, one of her relatives asked her if the balls belonged to her. “No!“ she exclaimed, “They belong to daddy’s knave!“. I’m going to need to get new business cards printed.

The celebrations included eating raw fish, continuously singing the song of one of Callum’s toys, and rearranging Let It Go from Frozen to be played on a 3 octave pink keyboard that could only play one note at a time.

In the afterning, we went to a nearby lake- I cycled, since there wasn’t enough room in the car, and met the others out there. Here, Callum explored the beach, Dineke pursued Callum from a safe distance, Zoe wore a hat, and for a brief time two hats, Amy built sandcastles, and I was a windmill.

Only one hat here. Also, Callum is remarkably difficult to hold on to.

Only one hat here. Also, Callum is remarkably difficult to hold on to.

Amy looking windswept and cute.

Amy looking windswept and cute.

Me being a windmill.

Me being a windmill.

Apparently, while I was being a windmill, some local kids thought that I was a posh student from some local student’s union or something.

The train system in the Amsterdam region is messed up. Apparently, the machines don’t take coins. They only take cards. Dutch cards, as it turns out. I’m told there are four stations where it’s possible to buy a train ticket if you’re not a dutch citizen, but Sassenheim isn’t one of them, so I felt fully justified in blackriding the four minute trip to Leiden on Monday morning.

Leiden is a bit like Amsterdam-lite. Lots of canals and windmills and museums and architecture and such, but not nearly so many tourists looking for coffeeshops.

So pretty.

So pretty.

I had a wander around, and found a really cool hippy travel shop, selling a pleasing mix of technical outdoor gear and hippy stuff. It also had a secondhand section for members, a sort of lending library for kit, almost. It was a cool idea, I thought.

I tried to get into the Rijksmuseum (not the actual one, a sort of local branch). It was open, but the doors were locked. It wasn’t shut, though, quite definitely open. Just you couldn’t actually go in. So I wandered around the grounds, and saw what looked like a really cool adventure vehicle.

An affront to vagabonds and adventurers everywhere.

An affront to vagabonds and adventurers everywhere.

Impressed, I took a closer look, only to discover that it’s wholly fake- all the tools and stuff are screwed in place, and, utterly appallingly (to me) the goddamn mud that’s all over it? Painted on. I have not the words.

I wandered a little more, and then visited the Botanic Gardens, which are the oldest established something in the thing or something. I’ll look into it. I took about a hundred pictures there, so I’m going to narrow it down:

I waited maybe 20 minutes for it to go for one of the enormous koi in the pond, but it didn't.

I waited maybe 20 minutes for it to go for one of the enormous koi in the pond, but it didn’t.

I spent a happy few hours wandering around in there, before heading back for the train. I actually really hate blackriding, since it’s super stressful, but it was the principle of the thing. Also it’s 4 minutes from Leiden to Sassenheim.

This was my last night in Amsterdam, which meant, once again, that I was super anxious, but I was also much closer to home than I had been for a long time, and I hoped I could make it back to the UK in one evening. Interestingly, the distance from Sassenheim to Calais is further than I went in my first two days in France, and yet here I was, pretty confident I could make it that far in a day, if not across the channel.

Small Update, Big Trip

Wednesday, June 18th, 2014

I’ve not written anything here for a long time, and that’s partly because the website is in the process of being updated. Once it’s sorted, things will be a little different around here.What follows is the first blogpost in a series documenting my recent adventures hitchhiking around Europe.

Day 1

The trip started out slow. My regular spot for leaving Saltash had only ever provided me with 15 minute waits, but today it took me 2.5 hours to get a ride, and then it was only to the other side of Plymouth. From there, though, I waited less than ten minutes for a ride to Gordano Services, near Bristol, in a van which had the heaters stuck on full. At Gordano, I got my water bottle refilled in Starbucks, and then waited about 25 minutes for a ride towards London. A continuing theme of this trip was having in depth discussions with people without ever actually learning each others’ names, and this was the first example. This was a guy who’d been driving from Cornwall, and had seen me that morning, but not been able to stop, since I was on the sliproad rather than the main road. He’d lived and worked in Singapore and now lived in Looe. We talked about generational differences and how no one hitches anymore, at least in the UK.

I was keen to get to the M20, so asked him to drop me just before the junction with the M25, but this turned out to be a bad idea. Fortunately, I was only waiting 2 minutes before I got a ride to Heathrow, with a really kind Indian guy who took me right to the terminal I needed for the underground.

I got a tube from there into London, and another out to Mottingham, on the A20 heading for the M20, apparently the best spot for hitching out of London towards Dover. After a 25 minute wait, Richard, an Irish tree surgeon who lives in St Austell, Cornwall, picked me up. He wasn’t going my way, but had had a good day and wanted to pay it forward. We stopped and he bought me a sandwich and a beer, then dropped me at the junction with the M25.

I waited about an hour there, right in front of a bunch of Highways Agency guys. It wasn’t a great spot, and when Rachel stopped to say she was going the wrong way, I asked her for a ride back to Mottingham. From there, I tried to hitch onto the M20 again for about 30 minutes, before calling Bryony and Phil, some wonderful friends of mine from South London, and staying the night with them. They gave me suncream, which turned out to be utterly invaluable, and then gave me breakfast the next day. After that, I headed back to Mottingham.

Approx. total distance: 400km

Approx. total wait time: 5 hours

Day 2

I waited for about an hour before another hitcher, Stephanie, showed up. She was much more experienced at this and shared some valuable wisdom. I started asking drivers at the pumps if they were heading down the M20, and was able to find us both a ride to Maidstone services. At Maidstone, we asked around the petrol station again, and got a ride after about 30 minutes with Peter and Charlie, and Hennessee, a small dog, in a 4 seater convertible. This was a squeeze, to say the least. They took us through the tunnel, with Stephanie finding a ride to Calais en route. After that, they were heading south, so I headed south with them, and they left me at Baie de la Somme services, a service station south of Calais. I waited for about 3 hours before giving up and deciding to spend the night there. At this point I felt pretty down and lonely. No one seemed to be going my way, and Annecy seemed a very long way off. It was, at least, a safe and comfortable place to spend the night, with free WiFi.

The lake at the back of Baie de Somme Services. The French do not mess about when it comes to service stations.

The lake at the back of Baie de Somme Services. The French do not mess about when it comes to service stations.

Where I spent my first night in France. It smelled of blossom, and minimal light pollution meant a beautiful starry sky.

Where I spent my first night in France. It smelled of blossom, and minimal light pollution meant a beautiful starry sky.

Distance: 250km

Wait: 5 hours

Day 3

I woke up after a fairly comfortable night in the grounds of the service station, dried the condensation off my stuff in the already hot sun, and headed back to the front of the service station. Asking everyone who came past, I waited for another 3 hours, and started to feel quite low. Sometimes when hitching you’re in a bad spot, but you don’t always have the option to get to a better one. Later on, I came up with a better method for hitching from service stations, but at this point I was still a relative novice. Finally a truck driver told me he’d go inside and pay, and then take me to a truckstop, near a peage, the far side of Amiens, about 100km away. We listened to AC/DC most of the way. It’s funny, all the insecurities and worry that build up while you’re waiting evaporate in the first 10 minutes of a good ride.

At the peage was another hitchhiker, from Germany. He didn’t speak much english, and my german is awful, but it turned out he was heading to Spain, with two dogs. He was waiting just before the tollbooths, so I went and waited after them, and he got picked up after about 20 minutes. I forget how long I waited- perhaps two hours or so, before Bea picked me up. She was going to Troyes to meet a friend, which it turned out was the exact direction I wanted to head. This turned out to be my favourite ride of the trip so far, a ride of about 250 km. Her English was pretty good, and I had my french dictionary too, and the conversation flowed pretty well. We’re friends on Facebook now, so she’s probably reading this. Hi, Bea!

The french do not mess about when it comes to fields.

The french do not mess about when it comes to fields.

We stopped part way, and she bought me a can of coke and a mars bar, which was super kind. She took me to Troyes, which, on the map, is almost exactly halfway between Calais and Annecy. She dropped me in the centre, and I waited at a bus stop for 10 minutes for a ride to the peage heading towards Dijon, with Francoise, who lived by the bus station and saw me waiting, so very kindly took me out. She’d been a german teacher, and while she didn’t speak English so much, she understood a lot of it, which was about where I was getting with French.

Once I got to the Peage, I tried hitching for a while, slightly confused about which way the road was heading. I also went and tried the nearby french equivalent of a B-road, which saw three people stop in 20 minutes, though none of them were going very far. While waiting here, a cyclist came past on a touring bike, with a trailer, obviously on a pretty long journey. We nodded and smiled at each other, and it kind of felt like a “Yeah, we’re travelling differently. We understand each other.” Maybe it was wholly imagined, but it was a nice moment.

In this image, the artist hopes it doesn't count as a selfie if he uses a tripod.

In this image, the artist hopes it doesn’t count as a selfie if he uses a tripod.

I decided to try the peage again, but a policeman told me I couldn’t hitch there, and asked to see my passport. It was about 8pm by this point, so I decided to find a place to sleep. Once I’d worked out where I would sleep, I returned to the peage and sat down, collecting my thoughts in my diary. At this point, I felt good, like I was over the worst of it, the difficult starting point of any journey, and it was all going to be fine from here. I was wrong, but not super wrong. I slept pretty close to the peage, but down a bank behind a thick hedge, hoping I wouldn’t get seen. I didn’t, fortunately, since the police station was about 200m away.

Distance: 260km

Wait: Roughly 6 hours, including 2 before giving up and going to sleep.

Day 4

I woke pretty early, and had to dry my stuff out in the sun again. It was already hot at 7.30, and once I started hitching from the peage (today, a different police officer stopped and chatted for a bit, while I was sat in the exact place I’d been moved from the day before), I realised that it was time to break the umbrella out as a parasol.

Everyone loved the fact that I had a full sized umbrella strapped to my rucksack.

Everyone loved the fact that I had a full sized umbrella strapped to my rucksack.

NOTHING happens in France on a Sunday. I waited for about 4.5 hours here before changing my sign from Lyon to “Aire de Service”, just to get onto the right road. Finally, I got a ten minute ride to the nearby service station.

This was probably the lowest point of the trip. I kept asking people and kept getting rejected. I went inside, bought an adaptor to charge my phone, connected to the WiFi, and whined at anyone I could on Facebook (sorry guys). I found out that it was about 340km from Calais to where I was, and over 350km just to Lyon, and this really depressed me. At this rate, I wasn’t going to make Annecy until Tuesday or something. Talking helped, though, and once my phone was charged, I decided to give up asking for rides, set my sign and bag up outside, and start juggling. If people wanted to help, I reasoned, they would help.

Desperate times call for increasingly adventurous self portraiture.

Desperate times call for increasingly adventurous self portraiture.

A nice guy came up and started talking to me. He wasn’t going my way, unfortunately, but he talked to me about travelling in Scotland and his own experiences hitching. Meetings like this were to become a theme of the trip, people who’d hitched when they were young and now picked people up whenever they could, or just stopped to apologise if they weren’t going the right way.

After a while of this, I decided to go and try at the petrol station. I did that for about an hour, and then elected to just go and sit at the exit with my sign. It was about 7.30 at this point, and even though I’d only travelled 5km that day, I felt ok now- the petrol station had a free shower, and there were plenty of trees around so I could have slept there. At least I was on the right road now- I’d realised the reason this had been so hard so far was that I’d come south out of Calais, eager to stick with my ride as long as I could, when I should have come south-east.

I’d been sitting there for about 5 minutes, having been at the service station for about 4.5 hours at that point, the 5th car pulled up. He wasn’t going to Lyon, he said, but maybe he could take me part of the way? I broke out the map to try and work it out, and when I leaned in through the window to show him, I glanced at his SatNav. He was going to Annecy.

Utterly unable to believe my luck, I jumped in, and off we set, to cover the 450km to Annecy. His English was at about the same level as my French, but goodwill and humour are fine things. I broke out my dictionary to look up words, and took the wheel so he could do the same. We listened to music, and shared a bag of nuts and raisins I’d brought. He gave me his phone to call Zoe, my cousin in Annecy, who explained the whole situation to him. We drove on into the sunset, hitting the alps just after dark. One important note: If you’re going to hitch in France, either learn French, or learn to love electro, dance, house, and any other electronic genre you can. You’ll need it.

As we approached Annecy, he gave me his phone to call Zoe again. She said she’d meet me by the town hall. Great, I thought, and hung up. Then rang her back to ask how to say town hall in French. We arrived at about 11.30, and met Zoe. I was more or less delirious at this point, unable to believe my luck.

That is not a "smile for the camera" smile. It's pure delerious non-believing joy.

That is not a “smile for the camera” smile. It’s pure delerious non-believing joy.

Distance: 460km

Wait: 9 hours or something ridiculous like that

Total distance from Saltash to Annecy: 1370km

Total wait time from Saltash to Annecy: 25 hours

Stay tuned for: Annecy!