Hitchhiking from Amsterdam to Istanbul

Service Station Manager: “Excuse me, but I you’ll have to move, we don’t allow hitchhiking here. There is a spot just up the road that is marked as an official hitchhiking spot.”

Me: I had been aware of this, but had previously heard this petrol station was better. “Alright, have a nice day.” I reply and start wandering around. Two people seemed to have hidden a little behind the petrol station and were also attempting to hitch a ride. “Where are you going guys? I am assuming you were also told not to hitch here?” I walk towards them, my friend Asami who had walked me here to say goodbye following close behind.

Uke-Guy: “Oh yes, well we’re on our way to Berlin. But it is a Uni event, so the hitchhiking spot that lies a little down the road is crowded with 30 people. Everyone has the same destination, so this is a better place.” He holds up his ukulele to a Range Rover just about to depart the petrol station.

Me: The Range Rover stops and rolls down the window. “Well best of luck.” Where should I go now? Both places seemed pretty bad at this point.

Uke-Guy: “Sorry sir, are you going toward Germany?”

Range-Driver: “No sorry, just south.”

Me: I want to get out of here, this might be perfect. “Would you mind me as a passenger? I am trying to get to Frankfurt so south would work well for me.” I see his nod, give Asami a final good-bye hug and jump into the car. “Have a good trip to Berlin.” I say to the two still standing behind the petrol-station.

A quick trip and a couple of rides later I was dropped off at the front door of my grandparents. A couple of days later I hitched some rides to Italy where my friend Giulia brought me to her mother’s home right by the stunning Lake Como. With a wonderful scenery at hand and plenty of free time I at last managed to check off many things on my long to-do list. Starting with reading books to editing together travel clips, I finally managed to clear some mental space that had previously been occupied with the awareness of having to reduce electronic clutter and the need to relax. This particularly applies to my travels as I now found the perfect way of recording and remembering my experiences. To prevent having folders packed with thousands of photos from beautiful places I will instead focus on taking small movies which can then be cut into a larger clip that is better able to throw me back to that moment, that experience.

Giulia: “I want to show you something, it’ll be illegal because we have to trespass my neighbours garden - but we used to share the path that we’re going to take so it shouldn’t be an issue.”

Me: I follow her going up a couple of flights of stairs behind her house, we reach a little gate that could be opened to enter the neighbours garden through the back. The very overgrown path lead us to a small cave that looked like it had been used by humans a long time ago. “This space is nice, was it a storage room?”

Giulia: “Yes, they used to age cheeses in here. But that’s not what I want to show you.”

Me: I see her move forward towards an old, rusty metal door at the end of the little cave. As she opens it I see two almost vertical walls, a large crevasse ahead of us. In that crevasse was a path that lead towards the end of the well-hidden spot. With the opening of the door a loud, constant roaring and fresh, cold airflow came towards us. As I enter through the door I am at awe to see two large waterfalls, one below us and one above, with a green canopy of trees high above us. Sealing us off even further from the outside world.

More of the natural beauty of Lake Como, road trips, wild camping, exploring the fairytale town Ljubljana in Slovenia and enjoying the views from Kristina’s house in Novo Mesto later, I find myself once again having to leave. This time for the biggest leg of the journey - a hitchhike that would involve getting from Slovenia to Istanbul. I begin by heading towards the near-by petrol station.

Bosnia-Man: “Hallo, you speak deutsch?”

Me: An older man approaches me. “Yes, I speak german. Are you going into my direction by any chance?” I lift up my sign reading: Serbia.

Bosnia-Man: “Ja, I am going that way. But only take for 300km. Then I go Bosnia to home.”

Me: “Oh that’s perfect, thank you so much.” He leads me towards his white, slightly rusty van and we get in. We have to clean the little mess inside a bit to fit my bag and myself into two of the three font seats. As we depart I watch him light his cigarette with shaky hands, almost like Parkinsons but probably more like essential tremor. The journey goes well, I mainly read to keep my mind occupied. As he was not a very talkative man I also spend some time simply watching nature as the older van moves along the highway, with the needle of it’s speed meter shaking, like the driver’s hands, around 120.

Bosnia-Man: “I hope you have more good luck, here many people go Turkey. Look for number plate with number 34, they go to Istanbul.”

Me: “Thank you, have good time in Bosnia and I hope the rest of your trip goes well too.” I get out. The sun had gotten significantly more intense towards mid-day. With temperatures probably around 26C and bright light from the sun I lean down to unpack my sunglasses. I don’t get to unpack them, a big truck stops with a turkish number plate. I wave my sign reading ‘Sofia’ and the truck driver waves his hand to tell me to enter the cab.

He doesn’t speak any english, german or spanish - I don’t speak any turkish. We manage to communicate through little drawings and I make much use of my limited turkish (yes, no, my friend, thank you, ok, hello, goodbye) - in the end I find out that he was going precisely my way. All the way from Croatia to Istanbul. During this journey I started being impressed by the patience that is required when working as a truck driver. At every border crossing we had to pass through four to five long queues that involved showing passports; and customs, lots of customs bureaucracy. In the backdrop to all of this we had loud turkish music blaring from the shitty speakers of the cab, which was only interrupted every five minutes by a monotone female voice saying: “This mix was made with a trial version of MixMeister, you can remove this message by buying the full version”. On the way towards the border of Serbia and Bulgaria I keep my eyes fixed on the electronic message boards hanging above the motorway. I could see and feel the temperature rising: 26.4, 28.9, 31.6, 33.9. It got hotter and hotter, until the sun set. Without air-conditioning in the truck it was only the open windows that allowed for a fresh breeze to circulate through the thick air of the cab. I start nodding off, but only for short moments at a time, usually to be awoken by a bump in the road or when for the 143rd time the monotone female voice informed us to buy the full version of MixMeister. Following a carousel ride through the capital of Bulgaria and a long and weirdly enjoyable trip towards Istanbul, we reach the border of Turkey. After one final ordeal of getting through all the queues we had arrived in the final country of this part of the trip, where you can find chicken in your dessert, cross continents underground and visit the birthplace of Santa Claus.

The maze of motorways, main streets and side streets made it a challenge to find our way to the right part of the city, but his persistent muttering of ‘Problem Yok’ (which I interpreted as ‘no problem, and started replying to with ‘thank you’ in turkish) and impressive sense of direction brought us to the University near my friends flat. Serkan, the driver, and I had one last conversation with our comical drawings and swat the last few flies that had been pestering us throughout the journey. A hearty goodbye and a short walk later I find myself in my friends flat, feeling in dire need of sleep and a shower but ready for the oncoming trip to Iran.

Note: See the new Movies menu on the top of your screen to watch some of my experiences in a movie format.