28 April 2009
Within minutes of crossing back over to the right side of the road I could hear the faint noise of an engine behind me. I glanced over my left shoulder and saw a strange-looking vehicle puttering down the road. The front end resembled a nineteen-eighties pickup-truck, but larger. The back looked like some sort of camper, but featured no windows. The monstrosity pulled over a few metres in front of me, the passenger-side door swung open and two large dogs bounded out and started lunging towards me. A woman in her twenties descended next and called the dogs back, "Dundee! Karbon!" she shouted. Grabbing the dogs by the collar, she told me that her and her girlfriend were going to Bayonne. I smiled, "Moi aussi!"
She introduced herself as Sarah as she unlocked the padlock that held together the chain that kept the door to the camper closed. Inside I could see a makeshift bunk-bed, a separate area with a toilet and reggae music posters on the walls. The dogs were ushered into the back along with my rucksack and hockey stick, then Sarah and I hopped into the front where I met Wally. The two women lit up cigarettes as the vehicle started to roll forward. Sarah and Wally were really kind, really interesting women. Outcasted by their families, they saved up their money, put it all into buying the camper and decided to move to Bayonne and start over, together. They said it was the best decision they've ever made. I couldn't help but admire them.
As we drove along, a mountain range started to appear in the distance. I had made it all the way to the Pyrenees! Looking out at the beautiful countryside and the distinct style of the houses we were passing, we were obviously in Basque Country now (or Pays basque français).
We reached Bayonne and the ladies found a parking lot for their camper. We wished each other luck on our respective new adventures and I headed across the river towards the city centre in search of something to eat.
After satisfying my hunger I considered my next move. I thought about trying to find a cheap place to stay for the night but something inside me was urging me to press on- so, I did. I walked across Bayonne until I found the highway heading south. Positioning myself in a safe spot on a wide shoulder with an emergency telephone, I extended my thumb once again. Only a few minutes had passed when a green minivan with two kids in the back pulled-over onto the shoulder. I couldn't believe my luck as I grabbed my things and went over to speak to the driver. The woman behind the wheel asked me where I was going and I told her I was headed to Spain. My heart sank when she told me she thought I was just looking for a ride into town and they were getting off at the next exit for Bayonne. I thanked her for stopping anyway, then the van drove off and I was left standing in it's dust.
But it would only be about fifteen minutes later that a little, black, beat-up, two-door would pull over and the young, male driver would pose me the same question. This time I decided to keep my destination within France so I answered that I was aiming for Saint-Jean-De-Luz. Again, I was shot with disappointment when he started to tell me that that was farther than he was going. After a moment's hesitation he said he could get me almost all the way to Saint-Jean-De-Luz but he would have to go through a toll that he would otherwise avoid. As long as I would pay the toll it was no problem. He had himself a deal and I jumped into the car. My new driver, Sam, hit the gas hard and we flew down the highway at illegal speeds. About 15km later, which only took a few minutes, the way Sam drove, we were at the toll booth and I dug through my pockets for the €1.60. Sam tossed the two-Euro coin I had given him into the basket and the automatic-gate went up. We pulled into a little parking lot on the right-hand side, Sam pointed out which way I should continue to get to Saint-Jean-De-Luz, we shook hands and then he squealed the tires and was off.
I started walking and before long I reached a beautiful, little village nestled in the hills. I stopped several times to take photos of the countryside, a handball court, a cemetery and a surf shop.
Yes, a surf shop! I knew I was close to the ocean so I had to find it. When I did, I ran across the sand like a four-year-old on his first trip to the beach.
Unfortunately, I didn't have much time to waste. I was losing daylight, and the clouds were coming in too, so I returned to the road and carried on towards Saint-Jean-De-Luz. Each time a car passed I held out my thumb but I wasn't really expecting to be picked up in the middle of a town. The sky was turning a darker shade of grey and soon, little drops of water were beading down my bright red poncho. I started to second-guess my decision to continue beyond Bayonne, but I knew I wouldn't be able to find a place to stay in the little commune I was in, so there was nothing I could do now but soldier on. Fortunately, the driver of a silver Volkswagon took pity on me and offered me a ride. Her name was Alene and she was absolutely gorgeous. Probably about twenty-three or twenty-four years old, she had shoulder-length, dirty-blonde hair, light-blue eyes and a very warm smile. After hitch-hiking all day, I was a mess and a little self-conscious to be in a car with such a beautiful girl but Alene was very sweet and it didn't take long to feel comfortable with her. She was heading in to Saint-Jean-De-Luz for a night of Nintendo Wii with her friends. She poked fun at herself for being a bit of a dork, but that sounded pretty cool to me.
I asked Alene if she could drop me off near the A63- the highway that would lead me to Spain. She was a little concerned that I wanted to continue on in this weather, but I was less than 20km from the border now and I was determined to make it, so I assured her that I would be fine. She dropped me off right at the autoroute and wished me "bon courage."
As I walked down the curving ramp and onto the A63 the sun was also descending- and much faster than I. It was raining and it was getting dark but this time I wasn't questioning my decision at all. In fact, I was smiling. This was the adversity I had been looking for. I was going to make it to Spain in one day, even if I had to walk the last 20km in the pouring rain.
And the rain did pour. It got heavier and heavier to the point where I had to take refuge beneath an overpass. I thought I could wait until the storm subsided, but after half an hour it didn't seem to be letting up at all. It was after 10pm now and completely dark out. It occurred to me that if I didn't get back to making progress I might have to sleep under that overpass, so I tightened the strings on the hood of my poncho and forged ahead once more. The next sign I passed read, HENDAYE 15 [km]. It was encouraging, but only slightly. Out of nowhere, flashing lights appeared behind me and a man started shouting. I turned back and saw a pair of blinding headlights and the silhouette of a man standing between the vehicle and me. It was the cops and the officer was shouting at me to come back. I had but one thought...
"Shit."
(Coming soon, the third and final instalment of my hitch-hiking odyssey.)
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