Hitchhiking 101 - the French Version
Oct. 27th, 2009 10:26 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
wwcitizenHitchhiking was never something I planned to do - ever. I had scary memories of different horror flicks highlighting hitchhikers dying. My father had told me stories from the 1930s of his friends and him hitchhiking up to New York City from rural NC for the Worlds Fair. My hitchhiking experiences started in the 1980s in the north of France. That phrase to me, "The North of France," now carries a chilly, though romantic tone of its own.
Normandy is a little chillier than one would expect in the summer. Even in the summer, temperatures can get down to about 55 degrees in the evening with a wind. The coastal towns are constantly shrouded with fog and haze from the English Channel. The tides are strong and in some areas run very shallow and later very deep.
Caen, Normandy, I learned, shoulders a lot of historical significance from the home base of soldiers in the Battle of Hastings in 1066 (which also set England into the Middle Ages), and William the Conqueror (the Duke of Normandy), to Jeanne d'Arc (Joan of Arc), and eventually WWII. Touring Caen, we passed by a statue of Joan of Arc in the center of town and went walking around the markets where I bought what became one of my favorite jackets in college.
Jennifer and this area of Europe taught me that hitchhiking was, in the 80s, still a safe way to travel. In order to begin hitchhiking, we found ourselves having to walk 2-3 kilometers toward the outskirts of towns and throwing up our thumbs ("Faire de l'autostop", as the French call it - make the cars stop). Walking backwards was never easy for me - even sober! I guarantee that my tripping over things and hitting a couple of vicious signs endeared drivers to pick us up. "If I don't pick him up now, I'll hear about him on the news and feel guilty!"
One day, Tuesday, we wanted to go to Omaha and Utah beaches. First problem: Trains didn't go to the beach in Normandy. In order to get close to the beaches by train, we had to stop in Bayeux. Second problem: We had to hitchhike to and from the beaches successfully timed to make it back to Caen for disco night.
The train ride to Bayeux was interesting (for me) because of all the eye candy. One cute blue collar guy going to work, wearing his dusty clothes from the day before, sat across from me. His jeans were already tight in that 80s way, but made tighter around his crotch because he kept readjusting himself. I lit up a cigarette, a Gauloise Rouge (a little tastier than a Marlboro Light), exchanged a couple of words with Jennifer, and took out my Walkman to listen to the Smiths, trying to nonchalantly glance at the cutey across from me and not be too conspicuous when his hand dove toward his crotch. I put out my cigarette and changed the tape in the Walkman, when I noticed the guy looking at me. With a steady gaze at me and his head bobbing left and right from the movement of the train, he motioned for my Walkman. I thought, "What's he trying to do?" I took off my earphones and asked him what he wanted. He wanted to borrow my Walkman and listen to some music. Cute.
So, I loaned him my Walkman for a few tunes. We exchanged a couple of words now and then, and I changed out the tape once from the Smiths to the Cure. He was moving his head to the groove of the music as he pulled out his light blue pack of cigarettes. I'd never seen these before and he offered me one. To my surprise, they were Gauloise, as well, but I didn't see the filter facing the opening of the pack when I pulled mine out. More to my surprise, there was no filter - on either side! Making sure to "man up", I let him light my cigarette and went to puffing away, stifling rabid coughs, while my face turned a little red. Jennifer, happily, was asleep during this entire exchange. When she woke up close to our stop and saw the guy handing me back my Walkman, I had to explain the whole thing to her. We got off the train before the blue collar cutey. He shook my hand very firmly, which instinctively made me look at his hand, grin, and glance upwards back at him. He winked, smiled, and said, "Bonne journée!" ("Have a great day!")
On our way to and from the train station in Bayeux - the town with a train station closest to Omaha and Utah Beaches - we hitchhiked. The little white truck stopped on the side of the road and the guys in the cab motioned for us to get in back. This was my first hitchhiking experience - ever! My initial excitement, however, was short-lived.
We got in the back of the truck when an overpowering scent hit us: very pungent paint thinner. There were two painters in the back of the truck with no ventilation at all, except from the flapping back door. The painters must have been heading to a job. We had to hold onto the door so that it stayed open for air, but carefully so that neither Jennifer nor I careened out to the speeding pavement behind us.
Jennifer and I smelled paint thinner on each other for the next two hours while we spent the day walking first around Omaha Beach. Then we hitchhiked again on the back of a different truck to Utah Beach. I was on sensory overload with the stories and visions of 3000 soldiers dying on the beaches. So, we walked through the rolling countryside for a while passing cow pastures thumbing for a ride. A local businessman picked us up in his Citroen sedan. He was heading towards Bayeux anyway and dropped us off right at the train station. Sadly, we didn't spend any time in Bayeux because we had to get back to Caen to meet up with the guys from the youth hostel for a night out on the town. We were heading to the American Disco! Couldn't wait.
Normandy is a little chillier than one would expect in the summer. Even in the summer, temperatures can get down to about 55 degrees in the evening with a wind. The coastal towns are constantly shrouded with fog and haze from the English Channel. The tides are strong and in some areas run very shallow and later very deep.
Caen, Normandy, I learned, shoulders a lot of historical significance from the home base of soldiers in the Battle of Hastings in 1066 (which also set England into the Middle Ages), and William the Conqueror (the Duke of Normandy), to Jeanne d'Arc (Joan of Arc), and eventually WWII. Touring Caen, we passed by a statue of Joan of Arc in the center of town and went walking around the markets where I bought what became one of my favorite jackets in college.
Jennifer and this area of Europe taught me that hitchhiking was, in the 80s, still a safe way to travel. In order to begin hitchhiking, we found ourselves having to walk 2-3 kilometers toward the outskirts of towns and throwing up our thumbs ("Faire de l'autostop", as the French call it - make the cars stop). Walking backwards was never easy for me - even sober! I guarantee that my tripping over things and hitting a couple of vicious signs endeared drivers to pick us up. "If I don't pick him up now, I'll hear about him on the news and feel guilty!"
One day, Tuesday, we wanted to go to Omaha and Utah beaches. First problem: Trains didn't go to the beach in Normandy. In order to get close to the beaches by train, we had to stop in Bayeux. Second problem: We had to hitchhike to and from the beaches successfully timed to make it back to Caen for disco night.
The train ride to Bayeux was interesting (for me) because of all the eye candy. One cute blue collar guy going to work, wearing his dusty clothes from the day before, sat across from me. His jeans were already tight in that 80s way, but made tighter around his crotch because he kept readjusting himself. I lit up a cigarette, a Gauloise Rouge (a little tastier than a Marlboro Light), exchanged a couple of words with Jennifer, and took out my Walkman to listen to the Smiths, trying to nonchalantly glance at the cutey across from me and not be too conspicuous when his hand dove toward his crotch. I put out my cigarette and changed the tape in the Walkman, when I noticed the guy looking at me. With a steady gaze at me and his head bobbing left and right from the movement of the train, he motioned for my Walkman. I thought, "What's he trying to do?" I took off my earphones and asked him what he wanted. He wanted to borrow my Walkman and listen to some music. Cute.
So, I loaned him my Walkman for a few tunes. We exchanged a couple of words now and then, and I changed out the tape once from the Smiths to the Cure. He was moving his head to the groove of the music as he pulled out his light blue pack of cigarettes. I'd never seen these before and he offered me one. To my surprise, they were Gauloise, as well, but I didn't see the filter facing the opening of the pack when I pulled mine out. More to my surprise, there was no filter - on either side! Making sure to "man up", I let him light my cigarette and went to puffing away, stifling rabid coughs, while my face turned a little red. Jennifer, happily, was asleep during this entire exchange. When she woke up close to our stop and saw the guy handing me back my Walkman, I had to explain the whole thing to her. We got off the train before the blue collar cutey. He shook my hand very firmly, which instinctively made me look at his hand, grin, and glance upwards back at him. He winked, smiled, and said, "Bonne journée!" ("Have a great day!")
On our way to and from the train station in Bayeux - the town with a train station closest to Omaha and Utah Beaches - we hitchhiked. The little white truck stopped on the side of the road and the guys in the cab motioned for us to get in back. This was my first hitchhiking experience - ever! My initial excitement, however, was short-lived.
We got in the back of the truck when an overpowering scent hit us: very pungent paint thinner. There were two painters in the back of the truck with no ventilation at all, except from the flapping back door. The painters must have been heading to a job. We had to hold onto the door so that it stayed open for air, but carefully so that neither Jennifer nor I careened out to the speeding pavement behind us.
Jennifer and I smelled paint thinner on each other for the next two hours while we spent the day walking first around Omaha Beach. Then we hitchhiked again on the back of a different truck to Utah Beach. I was on sensory overload with the stories and visions of 3000 soldiers dying on the beaches. So, we walked through the rolling countryside for a while passing cow pastures thumbing for a ride. A local businessman picked us up in his Citroen sedan. He was heading towards Bayeux anyway and dropped us off right at the train station. Sadly, we didn't spend any time in Bayeux because we had to get back to Caen to meet up with the guys from the youth hostel for a night out on the town. We were heading to the American Disco! Couldn't wait.
