waiting for a ride.
With one arm stretched out, I did a thumbs-up sign as hitchhikers do.
I prayed
to the heavens that a good samaritan would give me a lift.
The wind
blowing through my hair and the noonday sun kissing my cheeks, I
plastered a damsel-in-distress smile on and gave a pleading look to every
driver that passed by.
It was my
second day in the Czech Republic, one of central Europe's most
historic places. My destination was Prague, the famed capital, some two
hours away.
I was
standing there on the tree-lined road just across the Nazi concentration camp
in Terezin, northwest of the country.
I had
just finished an educational but very disturbing visit to the camp,
site of the Nazi's atrocities. The 18th century fort is now a tourist area, visited
by local and foreigners alike to honor, by remembering, the suffering
experienced by the Jews under the hands of the Nazis in World War II. There
were worn-out prison clothes, letters to loved ones left at home,
IDs of
workers locked in labor camps and other artifacts on display.
Thirty-three
thousand men, women and children died here.
After
getting a glimpse of its past, I wanted to see the present-day Czech Republic.
Armed with enough Czech crowns to help me find my way to civilization and a
sense of adventure, I ventured through this central European
country.
I had
been traveling for several days and had just crossed the border by train
from neighboring Slovakia, eager to see more of what Europe has to offer.
In this
particular trip, I had taken more Third World-style bus and train rides
that I had ever imagined, eaten more unusual dishes than I did
before, and plunged into so much more adventure than in previous
trips. I was not about to stop.
The
unknown was constantly a challenge and an enticement. I wanted to try,
albeit reluctantly, hitchhiking which is a way of life in Europe.
"Hitchiking,"
my travel companion assured me, "is very safe here." I was not
easily convinced.
But I
thought this may be my one chance to try it. Besides, I was not traveling
alone. I was with a fellow journalist, a Slovak who knows how to speak
Czech.
Throwing
my fears away, I closed my eyes, took a deep breath and dived into this adventure. The essence of traveling, after all, is to see, try, taste and
do something different.
My anxiety and fear
changed into enthusiasm and excitement. I immediately
crossed the road and stood just a few minutes away from the bus stop, in a nice
spot in full view of passing motorists.
I did the
hitchhiker's thumbs-up sign every time a vehicle passed by. I expected to get a
ride in seconds, or at the longest, in five minutes.
Seconds
turned into minutes, but not a single soul stopped in front to me. I tried to fix my hair,
put on a wider smile and changed my body language, but to
no avail. Nobody even looked my way, it seemed.
All eyes
were glued on the road, not on this Asian lass in jeans and a bright orange shirt
standing by the road.
My excitement
was slowly disappearing, evaporating with the biting cold and the smog
from passing cars.
Five, 10,
15, 20 minutes passed and people just drove by, oblivious to the world around
them - to hitchhikers like me.
"Hitchhiking
is for people with no money but have all the time [in the world]," my
travel companion said, sensing my frustration. After 30 minutes, I gave up.
I walked
to the bus stop and checked the schedule of the next trip. The next
bus to Prague would not be coming for an hour.
My legs
were starting to complain. The sun had disappeared although it was still early
in the afternoon. The air became crisp and colder.
As if
that was not enough, a drizzle started. I put on my raincoat and tried to look
for the nearest shelter.
Unfortunately,
I was standing by a major highway with no waiting shed nearby.
I may
have had the time, but I definitely did not have the patience to wait for
a free ride. I started to look for a cab or bus or anything with four
wheels that could bring me to civilization. I was willing to shell out extra
cash. There were no vehicles.
Just
when I was about to give up though, lo and behold, a Volvo
unexpectedly stopped in front of me.
"Where
are you going?" a gentleman in his 50s, asked.
"Praha.
We're going to Praha," I said.
He smiled and without
hesitation, let us in. I was pleasantly surprised. I
heaved a sigh of relief and took the back seat.
The
heavens seemed to cheer up with me. The dark clouds soon
disappeared and gave way to the sun.
My
enthusiasm came back. I quickly examined the car and saw a set of golf clubs.
Our good samaritan is probably a wealthy businessman playing golf
somewhere in the countryside, I thought to myself. He seemed harmless.
I
whispered a prayer for a safe trip and started to relax. I buckled up and
slouched down in the back seat, enjoying the view.
Rolling
hills and a vast expanse of greenery stretched as far as the eye could
see. The setting sun, a fierce round crimson ball, sat perfectly on the horizon.
Smoking a
stick of Davidoff, the gentleman drove leisurely. "Where have
you been?" he asked us.
It was the start of an interesting, often humorous, two-hour
conversation, mostly about each other's travels and adventures into
different corners of the world.
Paul, as he
introduced himself, was a doctor who had gone to the countryside to
play golf. He lives in Prague, just near the central bus station
where we could easily get transportation to the different parts of the
Czech capital.
The car
passed by at least three more hitch-hikers. One had a backpack that seemed
heavier that himself. Hitchhiking, Czechs would later tell me, is common
in Europe. It is usually safe but not always easy. One can wait for
as long as six hours and still not be able to get a ride. It is for
people who just go to where the road takes them.
"It
is easiest for women hitchhikers to get a ride," a female Czech journalist
said.
Time
passed quickly and we soon found ourselves in the capital city of Prague.
We said goodbye to Paul. It was a pleasant meeting of strangers, a testament
of the warmth of humanity.
I don't
know if I will ever bump into him again, but I will surely remember him
as the stranger who gave me a free and safe ride in my first hitchhiking
experience.
*lost and found article. BusinessWorld, 2005
