Confessions of an 82-year-old hitchhiker
29.04.2024 - 11:23
/ theguardian.com
‘‘No one hitchhikes any more, do they?” I often hear people saying this and am proud to reply that I’ve hitchhiked every decade of my life, except the first. And I don’t intend to stop just because I’m now in my 80s.
So there I was, standing beside the road in southern Bavaria last year at the age of 82, with a sheepish smile on my face and thumb extended, while car after car swept past looking at me curiously. I could have taken the bus; indeed, that was the plan when I firmly told my companions that a seven-mile walk was enough for me, and they could complete the final five miles to Egloffstein, where we were staying, on their own.
I found a bus stop and learned that the next departure was in just under an hour. It was a fine afternoon, with the late sun illuminating the autumn colours of the beech trees, and there was a bench to sit on, so I decided to give hitching a go. If a car didn’t stop, I could hop on the next bus.
After about 10 minutes a large car stopped. I told the middle-aged driver where I wanted to go while his teenage passenger looked on with some misgivings.
“Gasthof?” he asked. I gave the name of a guesthouse, he nodded, and I climbed into the back, settling into the usual hitchhiker’s conversation. Where was he from? Italy originally, but he now lived locally. I told him I was on a walking holiday, and how much we were enjoying the region, rather whimsically called Franconian Switzerland, and in no time he was pulling up outside the guesthouse.
Sipping a beer while waiting for my friends to arrive, tired and hungry, I reflected on why my enthusiasm for hitchhiking is undiminished. It’s partly the serendipity – having no idea who you’ll meet and where you’ll end up – but mostly that more than any other form of travel, it confirms the innate kindness of most human beings. Learning to trust strangers is, I believe, one of the important lessons in life. Yes, there are risks, especially for lone women. Of course, bad things can, and do, sometimes (though rarely) happen, and obviously it’s much safer if there are two of you.
When I was a youngster, I took hitchhiking holidays to Greece and the Middle East with girlfriends, and we met some wonderfully kind people. However, my best hitchhiking memories are from later, when I was in my 20s, living in Boston and met my future husband who, I was astonished to discover, didn’t own a car. That would not be so unusual in Britain in the 1970s, but in America?
George hitchhiked as a matter of course and expected me to do the same. More mature and less selfish than my teenage self, I learned that every lift brings an opportunity to give as well as receive. George was good at this, a great conversationalist and always interested in other people’s