Retro Blogging: Thumbs up for France and Spain Pt. I

28 April 2009

I walked down the ramp and onto the autoroute, filled with the joy of uncertainty. I didn't really know where I was, I didn't know how long I would have to walk before being picked up... it was all terribly exciting.

I tramped along the shoulder with my left-arm extended straight out and my thumb pointed towards the sky. Dozens of Citröens, Peugeots and Renaults zoomed by me on the French highway. Every now and then one would honk at me as it passed. Whether it was in support or more of a "get the hell off the autoroute!" I couldn't tell. I walked for ages with all of my earthly possessions strapped to my back and started to wonder if I would have to walk all the way to Madrid. But just then, I noticed a holy temple off in the distance...

...and although I'm not a religious person I thought that at this particular time I could really use some divine intervention. Clasping my hockey stick in both hands, I raised it above my head and prayed to the gods of "le skating" to send someone who would pick me up. Within moments, rain started to fall from the sky. Was this an acknowledgment from the hockey gods? Was this just more shit luck? I believe it was the former because only minutes later a small commercial van with carpentry decals on the side pulled over onto the gravel just ahead of me. I caught up to the vehicle just as a short, burly man wearing stained overalls with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth was cautiously getting out of the driver's seat. He came around to the safer, right side of the van and in English, asked me if I could speak French. "Oui, un peu," I responded. In a raspy voice he proceeded to tell me that it was way too dangerous to be walking along the autoroute, especially in this weather. He opened the sliding-panel door to the back of the van and helped me load my rucksack and hockey stick in with a collection of tools and paint cans. He got back in the driver's seat and I hopped into shotgun. After we both buckled our seat-belts, I held out my hand over the centre console, "Jozef," I said. He grasped my hand and did one of those handshakes where you only squeeze and don't shake, "Jean-Marc."

Jean-Marc explained to me that nobody (except him, I guess) is going to pull over in the middle of the highway to pick me up; it's too dangerous. He told me that I would have a better chance at a busy rest-stop and that's where he said he could take me. A few kilometres down the road he pulled in to a tourist information centre and wished me luck. I thanked him sincerely for the advice and putting me in a better situation. With my bright red poncho on I found a place to stand near a sign for Bayonne that every car leaving would have to pass.

After about twenty minutes a man in a small two-door hatchback slowed down in front of me and waved me in. Bertrand was on his way home after a weekend in Bordeaux. Incredibly, he was able to take me from just outside Bordeaux all the way to Saint-Vincent-de-Tyrosse; a distance of about 150km. Along the way we shared great conversation, sometimes bouncing back and forth between English and French. Bertrand is probably the nicest guy I met during the entire journey. Before I got out of the car in S.V.-de-T. he gave me his phone number and told me that if I couldn't find a ride to give him a call and I could crash on his couch for the night. It was a great offer and I felt really lucky to have been picked up by Bertrand but I had my sights set on Spain, so, I decided to press on.

I was now off of the major highways and walking down the D 810 (much safer ground). For a while I saw no other evidence of life... no people, no cars, no houses. There was a sign indicating that it was 18km to Bayonne and I started to calculate in my head how long it might take me to walk there. Eventually, the first sign of civilization did appear...

I was intrigued.

Yes, by the inviting pose of the cartoon legs wearing fishnet stalkings and garter belts, but more so by the words found in parentheses; NON CONFORMISTE- words I use to describe myself. What goes on inside a private, French, non-conformist club with no windows in the middle of nowhere??? Curiosity was killing my cat, so I easily convinced myself that I had earned a refreshing beer. Unfortunately, when I reached the entrance it was not only locked but heavily fortified. It appeared as though 'Le Liberty's' had been out of operation for quite some time. Looks like 'the man' had won again.

I crossed back over to the right-shoulder of the road and put one foot in front of the other. Still, not a car in sight. It was late-afternoon and within a few hours the sun would be setting. Perhaps, I should have taken Bertrand up on his offer after-all.

(Stay tuned for Part II of this exciting journey- Featuring lesbians, gendarmes, roasted peanuts and more! Plus, find out if I ever do indeed make it to Spain.)

Retro Blogging: Beyond Bourges

27 April 2009 - 28 April 2009

Le Printemps de Bourges music festival had come to and end and it was time for me to set my sights on Madrid, Spain. I had been accepted as a volunteer with Pueblo Inglés- a wonderful program that offers native English speakers an all-expenses-paid week in a beautiful little Spanish village in exchange for... speaking English (more on this later).

I was having such an incredible time in Bourges with Cécile and friends that I stayed a few days longer than I originally intended. This meant I had significantly reduced the amount of time I was giving myself to get all the way down to Madrid and the only form of transportation I had prepared was my thumb. On the morning of my departure from Bourges I packed up my rucksack, grabbed my hockey stick and left the house with Cécile and Alex. They were going to drive me over to the autoroute to help me get started. But instead of arriving at an on-ramp for the E09 we pulled into the parking lot of the Gare de Bourges (train station). Cécile presented me with a train ticket and told me that everyone had pulled together their money, some even juggled on the street for tips, and they were able to raise enough cash to get me from Bourges to Bordeaux to make up for lost time.

I was stunned.

Speechless.

Overcome with emotion.

Truly grateful.

And truly humbled.

These people had welcomed me, a complete stranger from a foreign land, into their group without a moment's hesitation and treated me like a member of the family for the whole week. To top it all off with such a generous and selfless act of kindness brought a tear to my eye. Cécile, Malika, Quentin, Adrien, Aurélie, Yannick, Laure and Alex represent the best of humanity. I feel so honoured to have had the opportunity to spend a week with them. I will never forget them. And I truly hope we cross paths again one day. They are the reason I travel. They are the reason I love this world.

I boarded the train to Bordeaux and watched the beauty of the French countryside whiz by as the train headed south-west. On board, I met a young, Vietnamese girl with a French accent and a Czech name. A unique combination- Lenka's parents are from Vietnam but they were living in the Czech Republic at the time of her birth. She has been living in Bordeaux for years and offered to show me around the city a little. When we arrived in Bordeaux we exchanged numbers and agreed to meet up later that day, but first, I had to find a place to sleep that night.

I walked outside of the train station and found the tram stop that Lenka recommended I take to the city centre. I stood in front of the electronic ticket kiosk and tried to use my elementary school French skills to figure out which of the twenty different ticket options was right for me. Before I was forced to make my best guess, a 30-something couple came up to me and the woman started speaking with an Irish accent. "Excuse me?" she said. "Do you need a ticket for the tram?" They explained to me that they were on their way out of the city but they had four unused tram tickets left. I offered to pay for them but they insisted I just take them and they wished me a good time in Bordeaux. Well, it was certainly off to a great start!

When I reached the city centre I found an internet café and put in an emergency surfing request on couchsurfing.com. I was able to breathe a sigh of relief when a girl named Adeline said she could put me up for the night. She gave me her address, then I went to meet Lenka at the turtle statue in Place de la Victoire. While I was waiting in the square, I grabbed the yellow road-hockey ball out of my pack and started doing a little stick-handling. Moments later a tiny, little girl of about five years old came over to me, pointed at my hockey stick and said in her tiny, little voice, "Qu'est-ce que c'est?" I told her it was my 'bâton d'hockey' and started to explain the greatest game on ice to her. It didn't take long to realize she didn't give a flying baguette about the rules and regulations of hockey- she just wanted to play. So, I handed the stick over and let her try to keep the ball away from me. Her stick-handling wasn't bad, considering that it was her first time and the stick was about twice her height. Then it was my turn to keep the ball away from her. She giggled uncontrollably as I weaved the ball through my legs and around her. Soon we were both laughing and I thought about how cool it was that travelling with a hockey stick had created this spontaneous, memorable moment.

Lenka arrived with a friend and we headed for Adeline's so I could drop of my things. Then, the four of us went out for some Thai food. After getting to know each other a little over some jasmine rice and khao rad gang, Lenka and her friend retired for the evening and Adeline gave me a wonderful walking-tour of the city at night. We reached the Garonne river and stopped to admire the beauty of the lights shining around the Pont-de-Pierre and the Place de la Bourse.

The following morning I bid farewell to Adeline and met Lenka for breakfast. She showed me a few more of the sights and I purchased a compact sleeping bag for the road ahead. For a long time I had fantasized about hitch-hiking through Europe. Finally, the first test had arrived. I parted with Lenka and started walking down the Cours de la Somme. My target was the A63 South. I walked through the city for almost an hour, carrying about 25kg on my back and front. It was cold and it was raining but I was smiling. When I left Canada I dreamed of the adventures I would have and the challenges I would have to overcome, but the truth was, in nearly eight months abroad I hadn't really been faced with any adversity. For the first time, I was giving myself a physical and emotional challenge, and I was excited!

I didn't want to start my hitch-hiking adventure with a time-costly error, so I decided to stop at a gas station and make sure I was going in the direction of the autoroute. A kind looking, older man was coming out of the shop so I approached him with my best French accent. He told me I was only a couple of kilometres from the autoroute and asked if I wanted a lift. Incredible! I found my first ride without even sticking out my thumb. The man told me he and his wife were travellers too, as he escorted me over to his RV! His wife was waiting in the passenger seat of the vehicle. After an introduction from me and an explanation from her husband she seemed happy to have me on board. I climbed into the back of the RV and sat in the little kitchenette as we pulled out of the station. The couple explained to me that they bought the RV when they retired and had been enjoying trips around Europe ever since. They would have been pleased to take me further than the on-ramp but I was heading south and they were heading north. When we pulled over a few minutes later I thanked them very much for their kindness, told them to have a great trip and they wished me the same. I stepped down from the vehicle, waved goodbye and took my first steps down the ramp to the Autoroute-63.