If you'd told I'd be in Helsingborg four hours after I’d left from Stockholm I'd ask you did you buy me a flight? But even with a plane you have to reserve time to check in and out unlike car where you can just jump in and out without queues.
So when the Volvo speed of from the gas station reaching 220km/h you know you raised up that thumb again with Lady Gaga singing in the background weather your mother likes it or not and your thoughts about not doing the winter hitching ever again are left far behind. But what ever you promised yesterday you no longer remember when you sit in a cozy back seat while the views change faster than your thoughts.
I admit; I'm a junkie. But it's precisely these rides that make me addicted. There has to be some of those bad rides to know when the good ones hit you. And you are still brave enough to admit that if the bad ones follow you, you can always give it up and take the easy way out of the cold. That gives you comfort on the rainy road. That is what drives you.
I have had some luck with my ride this time, I admit. I spend a few moments beside the road with a Michael Jackson doing the moonwalk and trying to lift my hitch spirit up which desperately was still in the past on that cozy couch of a great friend in the center of Stockholm where I could feel relaxed right where I wanted to be. But no matter how much it gives comfort that I could have returned to that cozy place if a long ride towards Denmark wouldn’t have shown up in an half an hour I knew I had to try, seriously try. I made my choice when I hopped on that metro that took me to the outskirts of Stockholm. I had to leave when I felt the best.
The danger of overstaying crossed my mind when I heard Smurffins singing one time too much while reading Eckhard Tolle under a blanket on that cozy couch. No more of those blue creatures.
After that speedy ride all the way to Helsingborg I was again hiding the rain and wandering around in a boat terminal finding when to get over the Sea to Helsingor.
The boat terminal of Helsingborg was some sort of a club zone for teenagers from across the Sea. I observed the crowd, heard the mixture of Danish and Swedish language with a hint of a drunk accent and smelled the drunken Saturday early morning (read: vomit) next to the seat I put down my bags. And while waiting the 20 kroner’s boat ride to Denmark I finished the McDonald’s tortilla feeling quilt of not being able to resist my hunger, but wasting my last Swedish kroner’s in junk food, because that’s more or less all you can get during the early hours of the day in Scandinavia.
After a twenty minutes ride on the boat I finally was forced to rest in the harbor of Denmark. I walked a bit, found an open toll office, put my bags down and sat in a chair and fell asleep five times in three hours before the day light that hide itself behind the rainy clouds.
After some rainy rides towards Ulfborg the sun finally peeked behind the grey curtains and I stripped of my winter jacket for one last time and sat to wait a ride with Eckhard and his advices about The New World with me. But every once in a while the sitting, no matter how great company I was in, got my feet cold, so I turned on my mp3 for salsa and danced backwards with the whole Cuban army on my side.
One of the rides I got in Denmark gave me a little hint of the future roads in Turkey when the Turkish truck driver tried to gave me a kiss for goodbye to the mouth.
But you got to learn how to relax in those situations. Not by giving in, but by giving a clear no sign. After reading a book about a girl hitching in Albania where the drivers always ask for sex, but in a very polite way. And when you politely, but firmly say no, they give it up and drive you. In a way it’s safer and more honest than when you get a lift from a man who tries to hint you something in a western way.
While having that last quiet ride to the school in Ulfborg I thought about the last nights speed ride with some beat lifting music and imagined myself on top of a motorcycle speeding off in autobahn somewhere in Germany.
Sometimes all you need is a quiet moment on the couch alone or a moment with music that’ll take you to Ireland, India and Cuba to give you a climbs of another world and lift up your spirit. Some moments if your feet are getting cold and the coming Monday depression overwhelming, you want turn up that Thriller to lift you up over and over again.
Life with music is like garam masala in an Indian dish: it taste’s so much better with some real spice mix!
For the little junkie in you.
So when the Volvo speed of from the gas station reaching 220km/h you know you raised up that thumb again with Lady Gaga singing in the background weather your mother likes it or not and your thoughts about not doing the winter hitching ever again are left far behind. But what ever you promised yesterday you no longer remember when you sit in a cozy back seat while the views change faster than your thoughts.
I admit; I'm a junkie. But it's precisely these rides that make me addicted. There has to be some of those bad rides to know when the good ones hit you. And you are still brave enough to admit that if the bad ones follow you, you can always give it up and take the easy way out of the cold. That gives you comfort on the rainy road. That is what drives you.
I have had some luck with my ride this time, I admit. I spend a few moments beside the road with a Michael Jackson doing the moonwalk and trying to lift my hitch spirit up which desperately was still in the past on that cozy couch of a great friend in the center of Stockholm where I could feel relaxed right where I wanted to be. But no matter how much it gives comfort that I could have returned to that cozy place if a long ride towards Denmark wouldn’t have shown up in an half an hour I knew I had to try, seriously try. I made my choice when I hopped on that metro that took me to the outskirts of Stockholm. I had to leave when I felt the best.
The danger of overstaying crossed my mind when I heard Smurffins singing one time too much while reading Eckhard Tolle under a blanket on that cozy couch. No more of those blue creatures.
After that speedy ride all the way to Helsingborg I was again hiding the rain and wandering around in a boat terminal finding when to get over the Sea to Helsingor.
The boat terminal of Helsingborg was some sort of a club zone for teenagers from across the Sea. I observed the crowd, heard the mixture of Danish and Swedish language with a hint of a drunk accent and smelled the drunken Saturday early morning (read: vomit) next to the seat I put down my bags. And while waiting the 20 kroner’s boat ride to Denmark I finished the McDonald’s tortilla feeling quilt of not being able to resist my hunger, but wasting my last Swedish kroner’s in junk food, because that’s more or less all you can get during the early hours of the day in Scandinavia.
After a twenty minutes ride on the boat I finally was forced to rest in the harbor of Denmark. I walked a bit, found an open toll office, put my bags down and sat in a chair and fell asleep five times in three hours before the day light that hide itself behind the rainy clouds.
After some rainy rides towards Ulfborg the sun finally peeked behind the grey curtains and I stripped of my winter jacket for one last time and sat to wait a ride with Eckhard and his advices about The New World with me. But every once in a while the sitting, no matter how great company I was in, got my feet cold, so I turned on my mp3 for salsa and danced backwards with the whole Cuban army on my side.
One of the rides I got in Denmark gave me a little hint of the future roads in Turkey when the Turkish truck driver tried to gave me a kiss for goodbye to the mouth.
But you got to learn how to relax in those situations. Not by giving in, but by giving a clear no sign. After reading a book about a girl hitching in Albania where the drivers always ask for sex, but in a very polite way. And when you politely, but firmly say no, they give it up and drive you. In a way it’s safer and more honest than when you get a lift from a man who tries to hint you something in a western way.
While having that last quiet ride to the school in Ulfborg I thought about the last nights speed ride with some beat lifting music and imagined myself on top of a motorcycle speeding off in autobahn somewhere in Germany.
Sometimes all you need is a quiet moment on the couch alone or a moment with music that’ll take you to Ireland, India and Cuba to give you a climbs of another world and lift up your spirit. Some moments if your feet are getting cold and the coming Monday depression overwhelming, you want turn up that Thriller to lift you up over and over again.
Life with music is like garam masala in an Indian dish: it taste’s so much better with some real spice mix!
For the little junkie in you.
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