Save the ridiculously easy journey from Belgrade to Novi Sad, hitching of late has become something of a difficulty; and it will certainly continue to be so for the foreseeable future. This appears due to a number of factors, the primary one being no real direct roads anywhere. I fully anticipate requiring several rides to achieve my destination. This of course requires significantly more preparation. Rising with the light, I step out into the first spots of rain; the goal to make Timisoara by nightfall; and with it the promise of a new country. Romania.
I’m having a nightmare ten minutes in. It’s lashing down with rain and I’ve misread the directions to the first hitch spot from hitch-wiki. I’ve walked about 2 KM, my stuff is soaked, and I’m in totally the wrong place. I bite the bullet and use a quick taxi to retrace my steps. He drops me at a service station just outside of town.
It’s not looking good. No traffic is pulling in, and everything else is flying by on the main road. Standing on that would get me arrested by the gaggle of police having coffee. I swig one back myself while I change my sign to read the next town. I was setting my sights a little too high, but I still need a miracle to get out of the city limits.
Step forward Serge; a giant of a petrol pump attendant who soon has me in conversation. He appears to be something of a free spirit, a Jimi Hendrix fan and lover not a fighter. Consequently he’s asking every driver if they can take me as far to the border as possible. A smoke filled battered can on wheels is close to going the whole distance, but they need to pick up another passenger. With Serge doing all the work, it’s not long before he’s arranged a ride to Zrenjanin. Hero of the day number one.
Two uneventful lifts later and I’m edging closer, but now I find myself on a road running between two fields. I’ve ditched my Zrenjanin sign, but if nobody picks me up here I’m sleeping in a barn. Step forward Daniel; an insurance broker with near perfect English, he has a meeting in the town just shy of the border. He insists on buying me lunch, asks me to wait, then drives me out of his way to the crossing. Thanks to him, I’m making record time. Hero of the day number two.
Once again it starts to look bleak. I’ve eased out of Serbia, and I’m walking the 1 KM to the Romanian station. There isn’t a sinner on the road. Home base is about an hour away, but there is nothing coming through and I’m scanning around for a bed for the night. Step forward Stolli; a super friendly Romanian border guard who is fascinated by why and what I’m doing. Traffic across the frontier increases, and beaming merrily he asks every trucker to give me a lift. It takes him about 5 minutes before I have a ride all the way to Timisoara. Hero of the day number three.
Pulling into the city before the sun has bowed his head and it’s hard not to shed a little tear. Starting so badly, I’ve been overwhelmed by human kindness, which has resulted in my most memorable (positive) hitch experience so far. I decide to go out to celebrate, and drunk with happiness and…well…being drunk…I buy a load of Romanians drams of a 14 year old Oban malt – distilled where mum and dad retired to. I promptly get so shitfaced I excuse myself and stagger home to collapse in a happy heap. Of course I’d totally forgotten to pay the bill. Karma’s gonna be a bitch.
Hitchhike to India leg 17: Novi Sad to Timisoara
Save the ridiculously easy journey from Belgrade to Novi Sad, hitching of late has become something of a difficulty; and it will certainly continue to be so for the foreseeable future. This appears due to a number of factors, the primary one being no real direct roads anywhere. I fully anticipate requiring several rides to achieve my destination. This of course requires significantly more preparation. Rising with the light, I step out into the first spots of rain; the goal to make Timisoara by nightfall; and with it the promise of a new country. Romania.
I’m having a nightmare ten minutes in. It’s lashing down with rain and I’ve misread the directions to the first hitch spot from hitch-wiki. I’ve walked about 2 KM, my stuff is soaked, and I’m in totally the wrong place. I bite the bullet and use a quick taxi to retrace my steps. He drops me at a service station just outside of town.
It’s not looking good. No traffic is pulling in, and everything else is flying by on the main road. Standing on that would get me arrested by the gaggle of police having coffee. I swig one back myself while I change my sign to read the next town. I was setting my sights a little too high, but I still need a miracle to get out of the city limits.
Step forward Serge; a giant of a petrol pump attendant who soon has me in conversation. He appears to be something of a free spirit, a Jimi Hendrix fan and lover not a fighter. Consequently he’s asking every driver if they can take me as far to the border as possible. A smoke filled battered can on wheels is close to going the whole distance, but they need to pick up another passenger. With Serge doing all the work, it’s not long before he’s arranged a ride to Zrenjanin. Hero of the day number one.
Two uneventful lifts later and I’m edging closer, but now I find myself on a road running between two fields. I’ve ditched my Zrenjanin sign, but if nobody picks me up here I’m sleeping in a barn. Step forward Daniel; an insurance broker with near perfect English, he has a meeting in the town just shy of the border. He insists on buying me lunch, asks me to wait, then drives me out of his way to the crossing. Thanks to him, I’m making record time. Hero of the day number two.
Once again it starts to look bleak. I’ve eased out of Serbia, and I’m walking the 1 KM to the Romanian station. There isn’t a sinner on the road. Home base is about an hour away, but there is nothing coming through and I’m scanning around for a bed for the night. Step forward Stolli; a super friendly Romanian border guard who is fascinated by why and what I’m doing. Traffic across the frontier increases, and beaming merrily he asks every trucker to give me a lift. It takes him about 5 minutes before I have a ride all the way to Timisoara. Hero of the day number three.
Pulling into the city before the sun has bowed his head and it’s hard not to shed a little tear. Starting so badly, I’ve been overwhelmed by human kindness, which has resulted in my most memorable (positive) hitch experience so far. I decide to go out to celebrate, and drunk with happiness and…well…being drunk…I buy a load of Romanians drams of a 14 year old Oban malt – distilled where mum and dad retired to. I promptly get so shitfaced I excuse myself and stagger home to collapse in a happy heap. Of course I’d totally forgotten to pay the bill. Karma’s gonna be a bitch.