I don't know where to begin. I can't tell it all because it's a long story. But I don't know if I tell about that time in Albania? Where we rented a car and drove all over to find the Blue Eye? Or Croatia, where I still claim the coolest spot I have EVER camped, right there outside the walls of the breathtaking Dubrovnik. Nah, I'll talk about the day we left Slovenia and hitched all the way to Carcassonne in France. (Let's be clear, this was a long time ago and fuzzy in my mind, but I will tell of it what I remember).
It was a race. A hitchhiking race. Me and Maël vs. Jake and Jess. The start? Slovenia, nearly on the Italian border. The finish line? Carcassonne France, where Jess' granddad has a farm in the countryside. It's not even light out and you can here the rustling of gear as everyone struggles to cope with the early morning grogginess. Sleeping bags are being stuffed into packs, phone chargers
found and put into ziplock baggies, teeth brushed. All four of us pile into the little car with Aya's mother and she drivesus across the border into Italy where the sun is just starting to illuminate the overcast sky. And then we're off.
Jake and Jess got a ride first, not surprising as they had Jess. We were soon to follow in some sort'o'vehicle I don't even remember. Soon they were out of sight and we were stuck on the roadside, thumbs out. Not long and a trucker comes to our aid taking us around Venice. It hurts to skip a place that fills my mind with a mysterious wonder such as Venice does, but there was a race to be won.Where are Jake and Jess? We don't know, we haven't seen them on the side of the road. Maybe they took a different route, maybe they're way ahead of us, maybe we already passed them. The cold air again, a fast car, we're at a petrol station. No, we're going to France. You're going to Spain? Can we go part of the way? No room for two, fuck. A van with a guy. Another rest stop and two familiar backpacks out front. Jake and Jess haven't been here long and we're soon doing fours. A van and we're all in it, to go to into Milan or south of it? We're all at another petrol. Excuse me sir, are you going to France per chance? Excuse me. Excu--- Maël motions me to a Range Rover. We get in, getting a jump on J&J. Where are you from? What do you do? Oh, I've been to New York too! Wait!? You're famous!? Giorgio Faletti? I'm sorry we've never heard of you. Makes sense if you're only famous in Italy. Fuck yeah we'll read your book, can we have a picture? Thanks for the ride!! Dust in the cold air. No one around, no, wait. One car with two women, not rare but not not often either. You're from Italy you say? Do you know who Giorgio Faletti is? He's that famous ey? Wow, we had no idea. Yeah, he just gave us a ride. A flurry of excited questions before a old broke down looking gas station. French plates! Maël is speaking in French to them! Good signs! Yes they're going to France! Long ride in a cramped car and it's one a.m. Where do we stay? The castle, it's looming over us as we drift off to sleep under the bridge....
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