Tuesday, January 31, 2012

The Car Ride to Hahn

Every time I left English Boy it seemed something was telling me I was doomed or destined to travel the world alone because it was only then that I would have a rare “travel experience.” Perhaps being doomed to be forever the “single female traveler” isn’t so bad. On this U.K. with a slice of Germany trip it was only when I was alone away from English boy that I met inspirational people, those people that will always stick with you in your memory where ever you go. As well as those experiences that make you think,” holy crap, I am here! I am actually doing this!!” No matter how many places you have been to, no matter how many experiences have jaded you there will always be those incredible authentic and sometimes very subtle I am F-ing here experiences. I met someone on my train ride to Scotland who I know will stick with me.

Now I am writing in retrospect at the moment so I am not currently on my way to Scotland I am actually in freezing cold Canada in a basement continuing with my blog but you aren’t really supposed to know that but in doing this sometimes I make mistakes with the order in which things happen. I actually forgot a key moment in this trip so before I continue with what I am about to say about the man I met on my way to Scotland I am going to tell you about my car ride to the Hahn Airport in Germany. Yup I am taking you back to Germany but this goes with the current theme of my posting.

I was leaving Karlsruhe after visiting my best friend from home and a quick visit with a friend I lived with in Mexico…

The Car Ride to Hahn

I wasn’t looking forward to the tram, train, bus and then plane journey but it was relaxing alone time after a hard night of partying.

Unfortunately the exact bus I needed to get to Hahn from the train station in Mainz was pulled from the schedule. The next option was leaving at 5:00pm and I didn’t want to run through the airport like we did in Stansted, which would be cutting it way too close. I seemed to have forgotten what the Hahn airport was like. However it didn’t look like there were any other options. I was going to wait in the station and read my book but thought I would give the bus stop one last check. I saw a few people there waiting for the bus so perhaps it was coming. I asked a man if he spoke English and he said yes and that he didn’t actually speak German. I wanted to hug him, someone who actually speaks my language. Turns out he was Italian, we talked a while and more people joined us at the bus stop. For a bus that was never going to show.

There was a couple who looked quite distraught the guy couldn’t wait till 5pm he would miss his flight. The girl called a friend to drive him to the airport and announced to the line that they would have two extra spaces. I wasn’t going to be nice I wanted this ride so I stepped forward and said I would take it. The older Italian guy said we would both go (apparently he was with me?). We squeezed into the backseat and took off through the misty German Country side which to me didn’t look that different to the Canadian landscape that I am used to.

There I was in the a car with a Lithuanian, an Italian and two Germans, it felt surreal especially when I declared to them in conversation that I wanted to write because this scene felt more like a scene in a book slowly unfolding as someone read the words on a page. The buildup of the characters came out as I talked to each backseat member. I told the Lithuanian about my travels and he called me a Tramp. I told him I prefer gypsy but I guess there have been times when I travelled with very little like a tramp.

The Lithuanian worked for an international company that makes metal machinery. He had a cute boyish smile which contrasted to the Italian on the other side of me. He was nice but serious, slightly bitter and very Italian. He travels for business but by the look of him and the airline he chose he must not make much money or else he spends it elsewhere. I saw a sign once in a bar that said something like have money but dress like you don’t. Perhaps that was the case for the Italian. The shoes were what tipped me off a pair of old black lace ups otherwise he wasn’t dressed two bad but shoes in most countries are an indicator of how much money you have. He did have a mature George Clooney sexiness to him.

It wasn’t hitch hiking so much but the ride did remind me of a time when I got stuck on the coast in Nicaragua after all the buses had returned, I was with some guy friends from my hostel and my small backpack was stolen earlier in the day. So I was broke and the guys had a spent most of their money trying to cheer me up by buying bottles of Flor de Cana rum and fish meals in a sea side hut. To get back to Leon we hitched a ride with a Nicaraguan woman driving a pickup truck. She made the guys sit in the back and I rode in the front. There was an English woman in the back seat with a baby. I didn’t get her whole story as to why she was in Nicaragua with the baby but I will always remember the advice she gave me, “Never marry, forget love just have lovers.”

You never really know who you will meet along the way. I looked at the fresh faced Lithuanian with the smile that melted my heart and the rugged bitter sexy Italian and thought, “Here’s to Lovers!”


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