Category: Europe

What can I say about Harry? Among all the people we met on this adventure Harry is the one person among the many we met who I shall never forget. As we enthusiastically waved our sign to Salzburg a convertible black VW with the hood down screeched to a halt. As I ran up to the car he introduced himself to me. Harry from Heidelberg, on his way to Yugoslavia to spend a few days with a girlfriend who lived there. In exchange for our ‘lively’ company he offered us a ride all the way into Yugoslavia. Little did we know what to expect.

Cathy was crammed into the back with all the luggage and I was in the front passenger seat with – I kid you not – a radio / record player balanced on my knees. And that’s how we drove. Throughout the rest of Bavaria, throughout the whole of Austria. We stopped once for a meal and to put the hood up when the air became a little too cool. We were in a typical Austrian inn with the steep roofline, the wooden shutters and balconies and pots of bright red pelargoniums. We ate salami and cheese and hunks of fresh crusty bread and drank beer with orangeade! After the meal Harry fooled around for half an hour playing an ancient out of tune piano and we all sang old tunes from a juke box before tumbling out into the evening to continue on the road.

We carried on singing to songs on the radio to keep Harry awake, though I had an idea he was popping a few pills. We looked out for the road signs as we wove our way through the mountains arriving in Llubljana by midnight which is where Cathy and I were going to leave and head inland. But Harry had other ideas and persuaded us to carry on with him down the Dalmatian coast telling us we would miss the best part of Yugoslavia. I think he just wanted the company and to keep him awake.

And so onwards towards the coast road. We were tired, our voices hoarse from singing when we pulled in at a town around 6 am for the loo and breakfast. It was already warm and the breakfast revived us so we carried on. Harry wasn’t wrong. The scenery was spectacular. The road wound in and out of inlets with sharp bends and narrow stretches where there had been rockfalls. Beautiful little hamlets, clear stretches of the bluest sea we’d ever seen and at the other side of the road, dramatic mountains.

But as time wore on and the sun became hotter, we ran out of words and were too exhausted to take in the scenery so at midday we finally said goodbye to Harry as he dropped us off at a campsite by the side of the water at Trogir, seventeen miles from Split.

He had been driving for close on 18 hours.

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.

I was bored with life at home. Bored with my job as a junior clerk in a very well-known building society which basically meant filing; sorting the mail; lugging the heavy franking machine to the post office; making coffee for the boss; buying cakes when it was someone’s birthday. I could have done the job half asleep. And despite the fact that I was very good with numbers, because of my age I wasn’t allowed to be on the front desk dealing with customers.

Having to work Saturday mornings interfered with going to gigs on a Friday night, though there was one occasion where I actually slept in the railway station waiting room in Huddersfield after missing the last train home and having to go straight to work. Bored with the same old pubs each weekend. The same boring blokes.

I dreamed of white sand and aqua water, sunshine and olives, even though I had never eaten an olive. My best friend was also bored with her office job and with a little persuasion she agreed to come with me and explore Europe.

There was the sticky issue of getting a passport. I wasn’t quite eighteen so had to get my parent’s permission. Mum was dead against it, but catching dad back from the pub one evening it was easy to get him to sign the form. He had no idea what he was signing, but I am sure once mum found out he would never hear the end of it.

We didn’t have much money. Originally we had reckoned on saving up for a couple of years before embarking on our trip. In fact I had saved around eighty quid, but Cathy only had forty. But we reckoned that would get us to Greece, as long as we hitchhiked as much as possible, and camped.

My mother was very angry when I told her I had handed in my notice. She thought we were a pair of day-dreaming idiots. At the time it hadn’t crossed my mind that she might just have been worried.

A few weeks later, resignation letters handed in, backpacks chosen, a two-man tent purchased along with tent pegs, a wooden mallet* , camping stove and gas cylinders, pans and tin mugs and plates, assorted dried food and coffee and we were ready for the off.

Oostende here we come.

*(important)