TRAVEL WORDS

Luck decided to pay us a visit then. After our disastrous day of getting absolutely nowhere. Another German lorry driver offered us a lift on his way south. He was young and a little crazy, with radio Luxembourg playing at full volume he laughed and joked with us whilst flying down the autobahn at a speed we didn’t want to know. At least we didn’t fall asleep. Late on we were dropped off at a Rasthof just south of Heidelberg where we pitched our tent in the middle of a grassed island. Too exhausted to find anywhere else. Inevitably we were disturbed a few times with people tripping over the guy lines or peeping in to see who was daft enough to pitch a tent there.

After our long and exhausting day we decided that we would attempt to get to Munich. We both assumed it was doable, but we hadn’t reckoned on the traffic. We were up and ready by 7:30 am and got a lift to Karlsruhe and from there to Leonberg which is not far from Stuttgart, but that’s where our luck ran out. After two hours we were still in the same place and as there was a rather nice campsite not far from us we decided to give up for the day and have a proper night’s sleep in a proper campsite. It was very hot!

After a cool shower and changing into clean clothes we went off to explore the nearby village where we bought fresh milk, peaches and cheese to eat back at the campsite. We spent the rest of the afternoon lazing around. In the evening we went to get a couple of beers from a shop where we got chatting to a pair of German lads and a Dutch guy who decided to give up hiking and take us for a drink. We didn’t stay long as we were determined to get up early and get back on the road.

The next day we were up at dawn, but by 11 am we were still there along with several other hitchhikers. It wasn’t looking good and we were wondering whether to change direction and try another route. Finally at 11:30 am an elderly German chap stopped for us. He didn’t speak a single word to us, but took us as far as Ulm where we got out at another Rasthof. Shortly after we got a lift all the way to Munich where we had planned to camp for a few days. However after attempting to walk to the campsite we discovered that it was a long way from the road, so gave up and turned back to the road deciding to continue our journey.

Because it was so hot and because the day’s travel had been quite difficult we decided to go get a cold beer, forgetting how strong the German beer can be. So it was that an hour or so later we were back on the side of the road frantically waving our sign for Salzburg.

That’s when we met Harry.

The lads left the next day and Cathy and I went with them into the city for a wander around.

We spent a couple of nights in the campsite before hitching a lift towards Brussels. Unfortunately we ended up in the city of Antwerp and spent a couple of hours walking to the outskirts of the city to get another lift. This hitch-hiking business was turning out to be exhausting. Lesson learned – do not get taken into a city centre.

We eventually managed to attract the attention of a couple of friendly young French men in a Citroën who kindly took us to Brussels and even put us on the road to Liege. They offered to take us to Paris with them, but our hearts were set on Greece so we declined.

It was hot and dusty standing by the roadside, but within half an hour we got a lift with a German lorry driver all the way to Cologne. He didn’t speak any English but was keen to talk to us about English football teams in German! Before it turned dark he let us out at a Rasthof, a German motorway service station where we quickly picked up a lift from a young German guy to a campsite near Porz which was quite a long way from the autobahn. Still we did need to sleep.

The next day we woke early and set off for the autobahn. We had to walk about 8 miles to reach it and were hot and tired by the time we got there. We also got stopped by the police who tried to enforce an on the spot fine for hitchhiking, but as we had no German currency they let us off, but told us to move elsewhere. We eventually got a lift to a place where we were told it would be easier to hitch a lift. We did. Almost immediately from a smart looking male driving a sports car. It seemed he was expecting more from us than we were willing to give, so he let us out right in the middle of the autobahn. We were thinking that the police wouldn’t be quite as understanding this time.

In desperation as it was getting late we hitched back towards Aachen and got out opposite the Rasthof where we had been the night before! Believe it or not we actually ran across the autobahn to reach the other side where we collapsed in a fit of giggles. It’s a good job the police weren’t around to witness that! What a day!

The impression was at that time that a solo female backpacker gets offered the most lifts (not without its dangers I can say from experience), two females, a male and female pair, a solo male and then two males. You definitely needed to keep your wits about you whoever you were.

Our destination was Greece. White sand, blue sea, sun, whitewashed buildings with blue roofs. It’s what everyone thought Greece was like. So the plan was to get there as quickly as possible. Days were spent perusing maps of Europe to work out the best route. Hitch to Dover, ferry over to Oostende then the autobahn down the west of Germany, through Austria, Yugoslavia (as it was then) and into Greece.

We set off on a Thursday – no particular reason why we chose that day, and it was raining. August in England and raining! We almost changed our minds then, but eventually a beak in the weather came and we walked the couple of miles to the nearest M1 junction and the journey began.

All went well, we got lifts down to London, stopping at several of the service stations along the motorway where we could find a lift with a lorry driver and arrived, wet and cold, at Dover around 4 am in time for the 6:30 am ferry over to Oostende. Exhausted we settled down in the waiting room for a catnap.

At 10:15 am we were once again on dry land. Continental land. At first sight Oostende didn’t look much different to England, but at least it wasn’t raining. We quickly found the Tourist Information Office (the first building we sought out everywhere we went – second was a bank to change up our traveller’s cheques) and got directions to a nearby campsite where we would stay for a couple of nights. Catching the bus to the campsite we were fairly giddy with excitement.

Putting up the tent proved more difficult than we imagined (we had trialled it in England, using it at the Reading Festival a few weeks earlier) due to a blustery wind that had arisen from nowhere. As luck would have it a couple of English lads noticed our predicament and came to help. On condition we went for a drink with them afterwards. Cathy and I exchanged glances, it was going to be like that was it.

Tent up, we crawled into our sleeping bags and slept for a few hours, before joining the lads in the campsite bar for pints of Belgium beer. It turned out they were northerners too – Graham from Edale near Sheffield and Darren from Manchester. They were on their way home after a couple of weeks in the Netherlands. The campsite was close to the beach and later we watched as fireworks lit the sky. I was quite relieved that the boys were leaving the next day.