The Consequences of a Sandwich.
Post-dissertation frenzy. There's always so much to do before starting a new chapter, whatever that new chapter may be. In between mourning and celebrating, words remain neutral. Words evoke certain feelings, are constituted by certain conceptions or significations, and are subject to various interpretations, depending on specific purposes of the ones who interpret. But they remain neutral and impartial in their ontology, for they must, to fulfill their historic mission as words.
And the above: previously unpublished; clearly wrote them a while back. But since it's almost a year since I last crossed Europe, maybe it's time to reminisce. Nowhere could I have imagined to have my life revolve around a cubicle one year later. And one should really finish what one started, so here goes.
Day 7:
In a small town on the German-Austrian border, where the longest castle in Europe situates, buildings remain the way they were centuries ago. One of the places in Germany that haven't been bombed, and I'm glad they haven't. There were tales told about the chemical plant nearby, something to do with the river, details of which I do not recall particularly well. A serene place to grow up in, one, at least for a city boy, that was ever only imagined through countless fairy tales that were first told in Europe.
To this day I cannot understand why fairy tales and parables of other lands are retold to the resident children in crowded cities in Asia, as if they were normal. Imaginations of another mystery and exotic land perhaps? It seems that fairy tales, other than being a source of imagination, is also representative of a way of life, found only in a certain space and time, that is largely irrelevant to some readers, who represent another space and time.
As for cities that were in Germany not bombed during the war, there are always fascinating legends, retold in many many versions. Take Heidelberg, the perfect city of Mark Twain. According to one version, an American officer met a sweetheart there and vowed to return after the war to marry her.
The small town was refreshing and lovely, quite a pleasant surprise. Thanks to Laura and her family for the hospitality.
Dropped off at a junction, reassuring them that everything was going to be fine, but always thankful for someone's concern. A smile and card, and a car picked me up. Young lad in his 20s? Barely spoke English, but he knew I was Munchen bound and dropped me off the entry point to the main entrance of the big autobahn (no. 12 i think?).
An hour in the rain, but traffic seemed to be local. It was the rain that led to slight frustration, and after one day of comfort the mind requires a little readjustment. At this point a little dubious about hitching mind-set of German-speaking world. Remember Vlad's words about German unfriendliness towards hitchhikers. But one shouldn't fall into easy cultural judgments.
You gotta do what you gotta do. Walk down to autobahn, and hitch illegally. No imitation kids.
And it worked! Within 10 minutes a small red car stopped afar, and I ran all the way.
A mother and her child; child curious of my what and where. So we talked, the usual. Who says no women take hitchhikers? Less likely, but there are.
1-2 hours to Munchen, dropped to a town outside. Eat a schweinshaxen, so beautifully German. Ready to take U-Bahn short trip across town. Asking how this ticket machine functions. Asking why a German train is 20 minutes late, which should happen under no circumstances; yet another cultural myth broken. And that's how I met a lovely Ameican lady.
She has been living in Europe for 20+ years now, first in Belgium now here. Easter Sunday soon she needed to go do some shopping in town for the meal. And there you go, her husband is the 100th something employee of Intel, long before they became big. Thought of leaving, but ended up staying, and look where they're at now. Good conversations, about German nation and such, and travels. One of those conversations where no names are mentioned, no time limit imposed, no forceful interaction. You enjoy talking, you talk.
Cross Munchen, not really impressed for some reason, wait to be impressed next time. Take bus to next hitching point, by now hitchwiki has become a routine, and in big cities nothing usually goes wrong.
2 minutes, Russian guy comes pick me up, going up till Augsberg. Why not? Listening to some football news in German, thinking its football news, thinking I understand. Notice cars in my lane going 140km/h, but cars in fast lane still fly past. Too slow, shit car, Russian guy says.
Get off at a resting space, again standard. By now learnt to read registration plates, wait for the Stuttgart car, four-member family comes out, no seats. So wait longer, awkwardly approaching people. It was not an easy spot, that's all. Wait at junction where road from resting space meets the autobahn again. 30 minutes or maybe more, a Stuttgart car stops.
It was a small Mercedes. Lady driving with her partner? She starts talking about must-see sites in Stuttgart, and it is at this point I learn about the Mercedes museum. Incredibly nice and, despite being across town, took me straight to the address in Stuttgart.
Come to the conclusion that, in Europe, when hitchhiking, don't bother with Lonely Planet, because your path, and the people, is your Lonely Planet. There really is no need. Local makeshift guides are more fun.
And hence, I have met Nagy's entire family, pretty much. I call that an achievement.
Day 8:
Didn't put too much thought to this, but it actually felt warm to spend Easter Sunday with a family. Long gone from home, I had actually forgotten the significance of Easter Sunday to some.
Did you know that Stuttgart is the home of Europe's first TV tower?
And it was two days of warm welcome and partying at Stuttgart, I was told, proudly. Standard Nagy style partying, out till sun's out, and that is up to interpretations. Wonder how many of these I can take on a trip like that, or in life in general. The novelty is gone, the fun no longer at the same level, I guess time does pass and people do grow. Going out surpassing a certain age is just different from a going out as a grounded teen.
And the grandeur of Mercedes Museum, bravely admitting the history of their involvement with the Nazis, and the rather quiet city center.
And so on the day I planned to leave for Paris, a little ambitious given its distance, I was left a little unprepared, mentally. On the road for long enough, you tend to forget the actual length of distances between cities, accounted for the waiting time, and one or two bad decisions you are bound to make.
This is more so when, say, you have eaten a sandwich.
Hence, the morning I left was no longer an actual morning. It is perhaps for the aforementioned reason to this day I cannot quite remember how exactly I left from Stuttgart. Had a Chinese meal in the town east of Stuttgart, the name of which I can no longer recall, but it was somewhat picturesque, and then must have hopped on the train towards the northern highway.
Studying google maps now I remember how awkward Stuttgart is for hitching westward. With Mannheim on the northwestern corner the highway network forms a square and Stuttgart in the bottom right. Hitchhiker's nightmare.
Somehow I made it onto a resting spot, not entirely awake, a little grumpy for mental state, and finally a Romanian family finally willing to stop, heading towards Mannheim. Many cars to Luxembourg, and was thinking of going there, but pretty much gave up the idea because I found no couch there.
So on the Romanian car, barely exchanged any conversation. Young couple with new-born baby, nice people. I fall asleep, probably not very advisable under any circumstances. Wake up in a hazy manner, miss the resting space, and let them drive me to Mannheim city-centre, something I wished to avoid.
Friends from this part of town were not here, otherwise I would have stopped at Heidelberg just for its fame. After all, just a tram ride away from Mannheim.
At the eastern entrance of Mannheim, awkwardly trying to figure out where I was, with no map and no person in sight, and not knowing what to decide on. It was 4pm, or 3pm, should I hitch on further or stay? If so where? I should probably go across town to the west side. Finally figure out roughly where I was, and walked to near the train station. For some reason instinct tells me to go to train station, because that is likely to be close to city-center, with information and a cluster of buses going every where in the city.
And it was a right decision. 30 minutes of walking at least. No internet access. I look at a big street map and figure out where western exit of the city is. About to be complacent to have figured this out without hitchwiki, and I was later proven right about this point, but that was not until much later.
Hence, took a tram to the outskirts of the city, trying to hitch just under the highway. All this based on a street map. By then I had wasted two or three hours, time well spent if I had stayed on the highway. Still did not know what to do.
Short note: tram outwards had a bus connection, because the tram line was cut for maintenance. Hear driver speaking to a passenger in Arabic. He's Syrian. I smile, excited, talk about the situation there. Rising prices, sufferings of his compatriots. Tomatoes used to be 25 liras per kg, now at 100, because of currency depreciation. A moment of pessimism, but an unexpected conversation in the driver's tongue as such was a pleasant surprise, for both of us. Pessimism soon passed, and it was return to the typical Syrian hospitality.
Smiled and waved goodbye. Hitched under highway. Bus driver drove back, passed me and waved again. Wait for an hour or so. No cars. Late. There was no way I could make it to Paris tonight.
Stranded.
First time of such situation really. As for having nowhere to stay, second time after Warsaw. Lesson: don't eat a sandwich before hitching.
I could go back to Stuttgart for shelter, which was not too far away. But why turn back especially when it wasn't easy to hitch? Went to the nearest hotel, the receptionist was nice, but the internet wasn't working, at least on my computer. Spend another 30 minutes trying to fix it, in vain.
Stranded.
Made it back to center town on the same tram line. Making plans for a 24 hour McDonalds, not knowing if there was one. Come what may.
Walked for a bit to find cafe for internet. So went on Couchsurfing, same old trick, tried finding who last logged in and sent them a message straight away hoping they would see. Truly last-minute.
It is the nice acts of the almost unknown and unnoticed individuals who often make life pleasant, in everyday life. Especially so on the road, in an unknown land. In this case, it was a Kuwaiti girl from the Bull cafe, with her curly brown hair and big pretty smile. She didn't do much, really, just smiled and was helpful, during your most helpless times, talked a bit. That was enough to make my day.
At 11pm, I found a couch. Jana happened to see my message, her one last check of email for the night. Never underestimate the power of last-minute emails.
At this point I discovered the battle-ship like design of Mannheim. It was cut up in blocks, but instead of naming the streets like you do in America, you name the blocks instead. Hence first square will be A1, square to the right A2, square under A1 is B1, and so on. The actual address will be pegged to the specific block, and not to the street. And to tell someone to meet somewhere, you say so walk down this street, hit G7 and turn left, then turn right at H7...
Better than battleship.
And the above: previously unpublished; clearly wrote them a while back. But since it's almost a year since I last crossed Europe, maybe it's time to reminisce. Nowhere could I have imagined to have my life revolve around a cubicle one year later. And one should really finish what one started, so here goes.
Day 7:
In a small town on the German-Austrian border, where the longest castle in Europe situates, buildings remain the way they were centuries ago. One of the places in Germany that haven't been bombed, and I'm glad they haven't. There were tales told about the chemical plant nearby, something to do with the river, details of which I do not recall particularly well. A serene place to grow up in, one, at least for a city boy, that was ever only imagined through countless fairy tales that were first told in Europe.
To this day I cannot understand why fairy tales and parables of other lands are retold to the resident children in crowded cities in Asia, as if they were normal. Imaginations of another mystery and exotic land perhaps? It seems that fairy tales, other than being a source of imagination, is also representative of a way of life, found only in a certain space and time, that is largely irrelevant to some readers, who represent another space and time.
As for cities that were in Germany not bombed during the war, there are always fascinating legends, retold in many many versions. Take Heidelberg, the perfect city of Mark Twain. According to one version, an American officer met a sweetheart there and vowed to return after the war to marry her.
The small town was refreshing and lovely, quite a pleasant surprise. Thanks to Laura and her family for the hospitality.
Dropped off at a junction, reassuring them that everything was going to be fine, but always thankful for someone's concern. A smile and card, and a car picked me up. Young lad in his 20s? Barely spoke English, but he knew I was Munchen bound and dropped me off the entry point to the main entrance of the big autobahn (no. 12 i think?).
An hour in the rain, but traffic seemed to be local. It was the rain that led to slight frustration, and after one day of comfort the mind requires a little readjustment. At this point a little dubious about hitching mind-set of German-speaking world. Remember Vlad's words about German unfriendliness towards hitchhikers. But one shouldn't fall into easy cultural judgments.
You gotta do what you gotta do. Walk down to autobahn, and hitch illegally. No imitation kids.
And it worked! Within 10 minutes a small red car stopped afar, and I ran all the way.
A mother and her child; child curious of my what and where. So we talked, the usual. Who says no women take hitchhikers? Less likely, but there are.
1-2 hours to Munchen, dropped to a town outside. Eat a schweinshaxen, so beautifully German. Ready to take U-Bahn short trip across town. Asking how this ticket machine functions. Asking why a German train is 20 minutes late, which should happen under no circumstances; yet another cultural myth broken. And that's how I met a lovely Ameican lady.
She has been living in Europe for 20+ years now, first in Belgium now here. Easter Sunday soon she needed to go do some shopping in town for the meal. And there you go, her husband is the 100th something employee of Intel, long before they became big. Thought of leaving, but ended up staying, and look where they're at now. Good conversations, about German nation and such, and travels. One of those conversations where no names are mentioned, no time limit imposed, no forceful interaction. You enjoy talking, you talk.
Cross Munchen, not really impressed for some reason, wait to be impressed next time. Take bus to next hitching point, by now hitchwiki has become a routine, and in big cities nothing usually goes wrong.
2 minutes, Russian guy comes pick me up, going up till Augsberg. Why not? Listening to some football news in German, thinking its football news, thinking I understand. Notice cars in my lane going 140km/h, but cars in fast lane still fly past. Too slow, shit car, Russian guy says.
Get off at a resting space, again standard. By now learnt to read registration plates, wait for the Stuttgart car, four-member family comes out, no seats. So wait longer, awkwardly approaching people. It was not an easy spot, that's all. Wait at junction where road from resting space meets the autobahn again. 30 minutes or maybe more, a Stuttgart car stops.
It was a small Mercedes. Lady driving with her partner? She starts talking about must-see sites in Stuttgart, and it is at this point I learn about the Mercedes museum. Incredibly nice and, despite being across town, took me straight to the address in Stuttgart.
Come to the conclusion that, in Europe, when hitchhiking, don't bother with Lonely Planet, because your path, and the people, is your Lonely Planet. There really is no need. Local makeshift guides are more fun.
And hence, I have met Nagy's entire family, pretty much. I call that an achievement.
Day 8:
Didn't put too much thought to this, but it actually felt warm to spend Easter Sunday with a family. Long gone from home, I had actually forgotten the significance of Easter Sunday to some.
Did you know that Stuttgart is the home of Europe's first TV tower?
And it was two days of warm welcome and partying at Stuttgart, I was told, proudly. Standard Nagy style partying, out till sun's out, and that is up to interpretations. Wonder how many of these I can take on a trip like that, or in life in general. The novelty is gone, the fun no longer at the same level, I guess time does pass and people do grow. Going out surpassing a certain age is just different from a going out as a grounded teen.
And the grandeur of Mercedes Museum, bravely admitting the history of their involvement with the Nazis, and the rather quiet city center.
And so on the day I planned to leave for Paris, a little ambitious given its distance, I was left a little unprepared, mentally. On the road for long enough, you tend to forget the actual length of distances between cities, accounted for the waiting time, and one or two bad decisions you are bound to make.
This is more so when, say, you have eaten a sandwich.
Hence, the morning I left was no longer an actual morning. It is perhaps for the aforementioned reason to this day I cannot quite remember how exactly I left from Stuttgart. Had a Chinese meal in the town east of Stuttgart, the name of which I can no longer recall, but it was somewhat picturesque, and then must have hopped on the train towards the northern highway.
Studying google maps now I remember how awkward Stuttgart is for hitching westward. With Mannheim on the northwestern corner the highway network forms a square and Stuttgart in the bottom right. Hitchhiker's nightmare.
Somehow I made it onto a resting spot, not entirely awake, a little grumpy for mental state, and finally a Romanian family finally willing to stop, heading towards Mannheim. Many cars to Luxembourg, and was thinking of going there, but pretty much gave up the idea because I found no couch there.
So on the Romanian car, barely exchanged any conversation. Young couple with new-born baby, nice people. I fall asleep, probably not very advisable under any circumstances. Wake up in a hazy manner, miss the resting space, and let them drive me to Mannheim city-centre, something I wished to avoid.
Friends from this part of town were not here, otherwise I would have stopped at Heidelberg just for its fame. After all, just a tram ride away from Mannheim.
At the eastern entrance of Mannheim, awkwardly trying to figure out where I was, with no map and no person in sight, and not knowing what to decide on. It was 4pm, or 3pm, should I hitch on further or stay? If so where? I should probably go across town to the west side. Finally figure out roughly where I was, and walked to near the train station. For some reason instinct tells me to go to train station, because that is likely to be close to city-center, with information and a cluster of buses going every where in the city.
And it was a right decision. 30 minutes of walking at least. No internet access. I look at a big street map and figure out where western exit of the city is. About to be complacent to have figured this out without hitchwiki, and I was later proven right about this point, but that was not until much later.
Hence, took a tram to the outskirts of the city, trying to hitch just under the highway. All this based on a street map. By then I had wasted two or three hours, time well spent if I had stayed on the highway. Still did not know what to do.
Short note: tram outwards had a bus connection, because the tram line was cut for maintenance. Hear driver speaking to a passenger in Arabic. He's Syrian. I smile, excited, talk about the situation there. Rising prices, sufferings of his compatriots. Tomatoes used to be 25 liras per kg, now at 100, because of currency depreciation. A moment of pessimism, but an unexpected conversation in the driver's tongue as such was a pleasant surprise, for both of us. Pessimism soon passed, and it was return to the typical Syrian hospitality.
Smiled and waved goodbye. Hitched under highway. Bus driver drove back, passed me and waved again. Wait for an hour or so. No cars. Late. There was no way I could make it to Paris tonight.
Stranded.
First time of such situation really. As for having nowhere to stay, second time after Warsaw. Lesson: don't eat a sandwich before hitching.
I could go back to Stuttgart for shelter, which was not too far away. But why turn back especially when it wasn't easy to hitch? Went to the nearest hotel, the receptionist was nice, but the internet wasn't working, at least on my computer. Spend another 30 minutes trying to fix it, in vain.
Stranded.
Made it back to center town on the same tram line. Making plans for a 24 hour McDonalds, not knowing if there was one. Come what may.
Walked for a bit to find cafe for internet. So went on Couchsurfing, same old trick, tried finding who last logged in and sent them a message straight away hoping they would see. Truly last-minute.
It is the nice acts of the almost unknown and unnoticed individuals who often make life pleasant, in everyday life. Especially so on the road, in an unknown land. In this case, it was a Kuwaiti girl from the Bull cafe, with her curly brown hair and big pretty smile. She didn't do much, really, just smiled and was helpful, during your most helpless times, talked a bit. That was enough to make my day.
At 11pm, I found a couch. Jana happened to see my message, her one last check of email for the night. Never underestimate the power of last-minute emails.
At this point I discovered the battle-ship like design of Mannheim. It was cut up in blocks, but instead of naming the streets like you do in America, you name the blocks instead. Hence first square will be A1, square to the right A2, square under A1 is B1, and so on. The actual address will be pegged to the specific block, and not to the street. And to tell someone to meet somewhere, you say so walk down this street, hit G7 and turn left, then turn right at H7...
Better than battleship.
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