02 Jul Cross Country – Zurich to Madrid

Hitchhiking in Switzerland

I arrived in Zurich airport at 6:30 in the evening, exhausted beyond belief. I had stayed overnight at the Ho Chi Minh airport because my flight was leaving at 5am. I didn’t want to pay for a night at a hostel as well as a taxi, since busses don’t run that early. Or wake up at 3am, for that matter.

Anyways, I couldn’t sleep. Before checking in to my flight I asked if I could change my final destination to Madrid, since that is my true destination. Booking to Zurich was my mistake, as I intended to meet my cousin for his choir performance in Madrid. They declined, saying I would have to stay another night in HCMC, then attempt to rebook tomorrow. No thanks, buddy…I’m ready to move on, and I don’t want to risk losing the 400$ I paid for the ticket to Zurich!

I didn’t sleep much on the flight, either. The internet had not worked at the HCMC airport, so when I arrived in Switzerland I finally got connected for the two hours of allotted time. I looked up some hostels and tentatively began to outline my journey to Madrid. First, I found that the only dorm beds available in Zurich are 50$. Fuck that – I’ll just stay at the airport. Next, bus tickets on flixbus changed from $55 to $200. Fuck that, too. Outrageous! Flights were also incredibly expensive, so I decided to attempt hitchhiking.

I had already discovered that SIM cards in Switzerland are not functional in the rest of Europe, so I decided to wait until France or Spain to get one. Also, all WiFi areas (as I discovered while traveling) require a login with a phone number, which I obviously do not have active with my Vietnamese SIM. This means I wouldn’t have data to look up routes, translate, or anything else. I snapped some pictures of the suggested route to Madrid via walking and via car as per google maps and got as comfortable as I could in the stiff metal chairs to catch a few hours of sleep.

I napped on and off until about 5am. Yet another night of interrupted rest. I expected to be lethargic and grumpy. Instead I was filled with a sense of elation for the unique journey ahead. I felt organized and purposeful – a wonderful flash of my old self, considering how anxiety-ridden I’ve been of late. I brushed my teeth and organized myself, coloring in a few make-shift paper signs to major cities along my route.

I set out and found a bike path to walk along. I walked by some steps up to the main road by a stoplight, so I tried there first. A man leaned out his window, speaking fast French, but when I said ‘Bern’ he said this is not a good place to find a ride there and waved forward as the light changed to green. I relinquished my spot and moved on in the direction he waved. When I hit a major interstate entrance I stood and stuck out my thumb again. I didn’t have a sign for Bern, the next large city on my route, so I quickly fashioned one to hold up as well. I had no luck, and in my usual impatience for sitting around, I went back to the route google suggested and started walking.

My Fares

Hitchhiking is legal in most of Europe, but there are minor rules you must follow. In Switzerland, and most other countries, you cannot walk or hitchhike along the autobahns, excepting a rest area or gas station. Therefore, my walking route took me off of the main roads and I soon found myself on dirt paths through beautiful fields of wildflowers, vegetable farms, and sheep pastures. The air was infused with the sound of frogs and the smell of sweet peas, mist, and pine. Shut up, mist does have a smell! It was beautiful, and just what I needed. I was feeling good, but tired. I decided to try hitching again, and was picked up by a taxi driver, who kindly carried me to the entrance of the autobahn, free of charge.

It wasn’t long before a young woman picked me up on her way to work. She is a home care nurse in a small town. Concerned for my safety, she offered to take me to the train station to see what it would cost to get to Bern. I figured why not, I’m tired, and it doesn’t hurt to see. But the train was $40 just to Bern, which is nowhere near my final destination, so I started walking through the quaint Swiss town towards the interstate again.

Another young woman, an economics student who was unconcerned about being 2 hours late for classes, picked me up and dropped me at another interstate entrance. After a while of no luck, someone finally hollered that I was trying to hitch the wrong direction and that I needed to go back the way I came. Turns out she had taken me the wrong direction and set me at a junction for another town! Well, at least someone finally told me…

I walked back down the road the woman had just taken me up, feeling a bit defeated. After three very short rides, two of them had taken me further out from the autobahn. At least I was moving forward, albeit very slowly. I was still sticking my thumb out while walking when a truck pulled over. He said he would take me part of the way to Bern, then happily chatted my ear off. We discussed different styles of travel, astrology, relationships, you name it. He had a lot to say, but didn’t discount my opinions (when I got them in), and it was nice to talk with him. He even ended up taking me a little farther than he intended so he could drop me off at a better spot for hitching.

The stop was a gas station, and I headed to the on ramp with my sign. There was a traffic jam, and cars were moving slowly, improving my chances of getting a ride. I was picked up by a middle aged man with long, steel gray hair pulled back in a low tail at the nape of his neck and hunched shoulders. Stefan owns a stereo shop, and was going to meet a friend in the same business in Bern. We chatted quite a bit about aquariums and fish, as he used to own a shop for ocean aquariums. He dropped me off at another gas station just before turning off himself.

I stood with my new sign for ‘Geneva’ at the on ramp. The wind kept blowing the two halves of my sign apart, as I didn’t have tape. Most of the time I stood there I was trying to readjust my sign, so I’m not even sure anyone could read it. A trucker who had just grabbed some food from the station stopped and stared at me for a minute, then beckoned me over without a backward glance as he climbed into his truck. I ran over and heaved my bag up through the open door, then climbed in myself. The man had his mouth full of hotdog and flitted his hands about to show me where to settle my things. He had a small dog watching his hotdog with rapt attention in a small sleeping space fashioned behind the seats.

It turned out that this man, David, was going all the way to Geneva! He spoke very little English, and I little French, so aside from a few pointed questions of interest we rode mostly in silence. I caught my first sight of the alps in the distance and soaked in the beauty of the landscape. My luck was looking up! All the way to Geneva in one day! He finally dropped me at another gas station before the city, saying he would have difficulty with customs if I were there. No problem, I had plenty of daylight left. I grabbed some food at the station, ate, and held up a new sign for Lyon to get across the border into France.

A trucker had seen me exit the other vehicle, and when he finished eating he pulled up and offered me a ride to his final destination, just shy of Lyon. Jean Baptiste is a small, wiry man with the tanned skin and deep facial lines of a man that sees a lot of sun, smiles often, and smokes a lot of cigarettes. He laughed a lot and rolled his cigarettes in one hand while driving in 5 seconds flat. He smoked them almost as fast. He said he had never picked up a hitchhiker before, but after me maybe he will do it again.

Crossing Borders

We came to the border quickly. I had my passport out and ready, but he stopped and handed over the papers for his cargo (a truck full of salad). They stamped them and we moved forward. Nothing for me? The officer hadn’t even glanced in my direction. JB was unconcerned and waved off my uncertainty as we moved forward. I hope that doesn’t come back to bite me in the ass later.

We then drove through the most beautiful mountainous countryside, complete with quaint French villages, dilapidated historic stone buildings, cliffs, lakes, and pine forests. It was heavenly. JB dropped me off at a toll exit and explained what to do to get another ride. In France, you can hitchhike from in front of toll booths, but you cannot pick up rides behind them. I had considered stopping and trying to find a spot to camp because it was such a beautiful area (and potentially free!), but there were still several hours until dark and I thought I could run some errands in the city, including picking up a SIM card and a new marker for hitchhiking signs.

I held out my thumb and sign for Lyon again and picked up a ride in short order. Laurent was heading home from work. He works for a Danish company providing pipes and fittings for hot water. He spoke wonderful English, so we talked about all sorts of things. He let me use the internet on his phone so I could research hostels, and I looked up a bus company he suggested to get me the rest of the way to Madrid. I had had good luck so far, but I was worried about making it in time to see my cousin. I dislike time constraints and deadlines, but so it goes! I found a ticket to Madrid through Eurolines for only 52E, and went ahead and purchased it. Laurent dropped me off at a tram station that would take me downtown.

The tram was only 2E, and I made my way to Le Flaneur hostel. I had a baguette sandwich, the rest of my chips, and some meringues for dinner and I slept like the dead until morning. I awoke at 8 and walked to the bus station and settled in for the journey. I was feeling good again – I got in touch with my cousin and I had heard back from a girl in Madrid who was willing to let me couchsurf at her apartment.

Onwards and upwards!