I Wound Up In England And Now The Rest Of Europe
A month ago, neither England nor any of Europe was on my mind. I thought I might be hitching through Albuquerque en route to vague adventures through Texas and the east of the US. Then came a message from my good friend Molly, proposing I come join her in England to help capture some video and photos of her trauma-informed teacher training... and so here I am in Europe. Amsterdam, now, but we'll get to that.
I'd helped similarly around the same time last year when Molly asked if I'd come to Ireland, so just like last year, she helped organize the funds to get me flown out to help with her organization, the Yoga Mandala Project.
The flight was out of Las Vegas, so having wrapped up a successful session in Phoenix improving my own Trip Hopping app, it was time to hitch to Vegas.
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I got a late start hitching out of Phoenix and caught just one ride that took me past Kingman to Golden Valley, the turnoff to Laughlin. Having a couple days headstart before my flight, I figured I'd use the "free" rooms in the casino in Laughlin. I haven't had many gambling days in the past year, so gone are all the perks that come and go - that being totally free rooms in Vegas and everywhere else.
Laughlin needs people, always, so a night there was going to cost $15 and come with $35 in freeplay (money you have to gamble), so it was bound to be essentially free.
But I did not make it to Laughlin on this first night. The sun went down in Golden Valley, a mere 20 miles from Laughlin, so I was stuck walking the desert road, fruitlessly sticking my thumb out to passing headlights to no avail. Tucked under a bridge in my bivy for the night, I'd have to wait for the sun to come back around.
Come the sunlit morning, getting a ride took only minutes, and soon I was in front of the Tropicana in Laughlin. Indeed, I paid the $15, and indeed I ran the $35 in freeplay through a video poker machine until it became $25 actual dollars. So, I got paid $10 to sleep there that night.
I refrained from any actual gambling since my cash stash was too low to take a chance and show up in Europe at zero. My flight was the next day in Vegas at 5pm, just 100 miles away on a stretch of road I'd hitched backwards and forwards a dozen times at least. No problem, I figured.
I didn't take any chances, waking up at sunrise and walking from the casino to the main road like I had many other times, pointing to Vegas. After more than an hour of cars passing, finally, one stopped, but unfortunately for me it was a cop in a marked SUV. He came to tell me that "doing this," as he stuck his thumb out, was illegal in Nevada. I know better than to correct a cop, as I know how the law is written in this case, so I just had to stand there smiling and keep things smooth.
I explained I was going to Vegas to catch a flight, and he seemed sympathetic, but not enough. Despite me "seemingly like a good guy just on his way somewhere," he told me that if anyone were to call in or if him or any other cop drove by and saw me with my thumb out that the first time he'd write me a ticket, and if caught again after that it would be straight to jail.
Not a great situation. He drove off, and I then realized just how tricky this would be. I've been given this type of warning before, and usually eyeball the coming car to see if it's a cop or not before sticking my thumb out. In this case, I'd already seen police pickup trucks, regular cars, and the SUV like his - too many types of vehicles to identify oncoming traffic in the distance.
So, I walked and walked into the desert hills, unable to stick my thumb out except for very selectively, more or less counting on someone realizing that a man walking in the middle of nowhere alongside the road more than likely needs a ride, thumb out or not.
As the miles and hours counted up, so counted down the time until the flight. What would I do if I missed it? The question had no good answers. I kept walking.
At last, when all hope was nearly lost, a box truck pulled over and suddenly, I was wheeling straight for Vegas. Relieved, I sat in smiling silence (with a driver who didn't speak English) until we got to an exit on the highway less than 6 miles from the airport. I hopped out, and even though I had a two-hour walk ahead of me, it would be just enough time to get there.
Desert drama over, soon I was up in the air for an overnight flight to London. I landed there in the morning and had a 5-ride hitchhike day to get to Southampton, my intermediate destination. Three pretty girls and two guys in vans with a fair share of walking in between is what got me there.
India Jane was waiting for me in Southampton, a girl I'd met in Nepal for a brief adventure and was seeing for the first time since then, offering to host me for a couple nights until I was needed in Poole for Molly's events. It was good catching up and spending a day wandering the city, then I spent half a day hitching just two rides to get to Molly's area.
Once over there in Poole, I spent shy of a week meeting different yogis and people involved in the Yoga Mandala Project, along with a couple of familiar faces I'd met the year before in Ireland. Shooting video, snapping pictures, editing video... the days melded together, and a lot got done.
By the end of it, Molly easily talked me into joining her in Liverpool to take a little more video, providing me with money for a bus to make it easy. I rode with her to Southampton, where she was taking a couple days off with some other friends a ferry ride away, so I caught up with India again before bussing up to Liverpool.
A few days in Liverpool involved some more video and pictures, then the other yoga women went their separate ways until it was just Molly and I for a final night. Just a day before, I'd plotted my escape from the UK by way of a found $20 flight from Manchester (the next city over) to Cologne, Germany. This would get me to "mainland" Europe. For what? Well, to see some friends in the Netherlands, at least, then just see what could happen next.
Molly and I had a good time running around Liverpool; she took me to the Cavern Club of Beatles fame, and I guided us to Brew Dog taphouse, one of the better beer spots in the UK. The early morning came quickly, and we parted ways just outside the rented apartment, her to make her way by train to London and fly to Phoenix, me to hitchhike to Manchester to catch the Germany flight.
Shy of two hours later, I'd walked to the edge of Liverpool to what should have been a decent hitchhiking spot, tired from no sleep but with all day to get there. My flight wasn't until 10pm.
After a couple hours of getting no rides, which was unexpected in that spot, I was exhausted. A breeze of WiFi blew in just long enough to see I was only a few minute walk from where a bus picked up, heading directly to the Manchester airport. Fine, I thought, I had some paper UK money that would otherwise be hoarded until my next trip over, so I'd use it for the easy bus. But it turns out I didn't need it.
The bus arrived, and I was the last of four people waiting to get on. I asked the young driver how much it cost to get to the airport. "Just hop on in," he smiled, and I didn't hesitate the free offer. This particular bus is the type that people get by buying their tickets online, so showing up with cash wasn't a thing, and he could really care less about me jumping on with plenty of extra seats. A nice win.
And so, I showed up at the airport nearly twelve hours before the flight, but better than missing it. The flight itself was just less than 2 hours and dumped me in Cologne, Germany, well after midnight. After a long wait in a passport line, I was out on the street and just a 10-minute walk to a big forest to camp for the night.
My agenda? Well, in Germany, I had no ideas. I was just there because that's where the cheap flight landed. My main concern was seeing my great friend Walter near The Hague, and my other friend just north in Amsterdam. So, I spent a day wandering through Cologne, getting a couple glasses of Kolsh (the boring beer the city is known for), and camping again, now north of the city.
The day getting from there to Amsterdam took 10 rides, some walking, and waiting in the sun, but it was surely worth it. I got dropped off on the opposite side of the city as my friend, a two-hour walk, but a great walk. Amsterdam was more alive than I'd ever seen it, perhaps because it was a Friday, and perhaps because it was probably the first warm and beautiful day of the season.
Along the canals in the south, there were hundreds of people circled up with bottles and cans and picnic blankets, laughing and carrying on, some looking like they'd been there all day by the count of empties piled up. Towards the center, the bike traffic was thicker than memory served me, cafes were packed, spilling into the streets, and everyone in good spirits.
I reached my friend's place in a good mood and caught up, each sharing stories of our recent travels.
This was last night, now here I am on another good looking day in Amsterdam, the city that always seems to have one more layer to show me each and every visit.
The plan now? Well, I'll spend some days here before making my way just south to Walter's, which I'm always excited about. And after that, I couldn't say. There's ideas of hitching to Portugal, the front-runner at the moment, but with the weather getting better, it feels like all of Europe is fair game.
So, as always, we shall see.
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