Good morning curb-side. Good morning tiny creatures of the earth. Tweezering black specs from my neck, the head basin of my sleeping bag has been infiltrated by those little bastards that to my knowledge have no reason to exist, except to annoy the fuck out of me and any street side or jungle floor sleeper. Whats with their constant moving, something that small with that much energy, I need whatever they are eating.
First call of the day is awakening the senses with some coffee, vending machine style, you know… consistently too hot and then once its ready to sip, it’s cooled to tepid.
I am heading back to Germany after realising that the remaining days left to get back are slipping away, we are just outside Barcelona and have four days to get back. So whilst i sip away, Gerrit is hunting for transport.
A few minutes escape and Gerrit returns with positive news. He has rangled a lift for me, but not for himself. Truckers seem reluctant to offer a lift for two, unless your of the fairer sex of course but as I jump into the truck, Gerrit runs up to my side, informing me he now also has a lift. “we shall meet in a station before Montpellier by this evening”. And so we both leave, leaving me with reservations about how this rendezvous might work out.
I cant speak German, apart from useless phrases like “happy”, so I sit quietly observing the sun scorched mountains rolling on by. Within 10 minutes of my time with my new German friend I notice how frequent his glances and continuous the smile spread across his face is. Feeling a little intimidated by this as so far we have kept conversation out of our connection as frankly speaking would have got neither of us anywhere, I keep my gaze focused on the mountains outside. Perhaps my knowledge of the word happy could have been useful after all.
A hand then lands itself onto my thigh, fortunately the lower thigh (if that makes any difference). However the following look and a splatter of English which i needn’t repeat is all that he needs to know to know how I feel about his act of curiosity.
Some time later, after i thought safe to rest my tired eyes, i awoke them to the city centre of Barcelona. Why had we gone into Barcelona. We were heading to the South of France. Surely I wasn’t being coerced into something. We pull up in Barcelona docks. The driver wanders off and returns moments later smiling as he keys the truck back to life. He sets off out of the docks and gets us back on the fast road, it was, really rather strange and as such i kept my lips sealed. I wasn’t in the mood for miming!
But i was glad that we were heading out of spain and all the thoughts and scenarios culminating inside my head as we had headed towards the dock finally fizzled out. I wasn’t going to end up tied by the wrists to a toilet flush cord in a public toilet whilst a group of German truckers tickle my naked body with feathers. What a way to go out if that was going to be it…or if i escaped…who could recover from something like that!
Heading out of the city at a traffic light, an encounter with an older man would amuse me for the following 20 minutes. Whilst turning left at the intersection an elderly man who was not in the correct lane manoeuvred his car into the car sized tyre on our truck. As he pulled away after noticing their was indeed a truck right next to him, as you know, noticing something like somebody sitting next to you on a bus is tricky right?
Following this incident, the elderly man decides to follow the truck, the horn failed to stop. This didn’t just last for a few more traffic lights. He followed us out of the city for the next 20 minutes, constantly rattling off the sound of his horn. The German truck driver was just as conscious about this situation over the elderly’s decision to drive into the truck in the first place. Needless to say the elderly fellow gave up, so unfortunately no high speed thriller ensued. I could imagine a newspaper headline. “Pensioner carries out need for speed style hi jack on German truck”. And somewhere in the following paragraph a young Englishman would be referenced as the cause for the whole incident. Someone has to take the blame, why not me.
Nearing 4pm local French time I set foot on French concrete. The remaining part of the journey here was uneventful, no thighs were touched and no feathers found in public toilets and with a shake of the hand to bid farewell, I was on my own for the first time, I would have to find my own rides, use my own words, words that will no doubt be difficult to voice as my comprehension of both French and German was equal to a baboons understanding of how we supposedly evolved into their brothers and sisters.
I was just outside of Montpellier City Centre. Gerrit was not here. Will i have to wait long, will Gerrit turn up today, if not at all…