We woke up later. Jana was already gone for work on the other side of Zurich. She left breakfast for us, some müsli and milk.
Hitchhiking in a city is a nightmare, in Zurich too. We went along the main road, but there was no space for cars to stop. At least we imagined that dutiful Swiss citizens would not stop. Nobody also stopped in inner-city gas stations. We had to go a long way before we decided to stick out our thumb.
It was not a good place anyway. Cars were shuffling on the road before an intersection. We waited for some time until a truck driver took us.
Trucks have only two seats. Behind the seats is a bed, so a hitchhiker can easily sit on it. It's not safe, and it's not legal, but you are moving. This driver had some experiences and was sensible. He told us that nobody would pick us up there. He took us to the first proper gas station on the way.
It was a short ride, but it filled us with optimism that disappeared after a few minutes. Getting out of the truck, we immediately stopped a car that went our way. When we were speeding on the highway, we discovered that the driver goes to a nearby village and had nowhere to drop us off. Not at a good place.
So instead of hitchhiking a long ride on a busy gas station that could take us half the Switzerland, we were on a country road connecting to the highway hoping for anything. But nothing was coming.
After a long time, Mentor stopped (that was his actual name). Mentor had a car filled with sanitary napkins and other cleaning products. At the same time, when he opened the window, we were attacked by clouds of cigarette smoke. He had black glasses, and from the speakers, he blasted Albanian pop. (Probably, he was Albanian, it might have been different ethnic pop)
Mentor was a sample of how a Balkanian hitchhiking might look. We found out that he is a distant cousin of Mother Theresa. Then we learned that Mentor manages a cleaning company in Switzerland. He offered us work. If someone we know wants to get rich as a cleaning lady, we should contact him.
One more thing, Mentor didn't speak English, French, or Czech (the languages we can communicate). The conversation was partly in Croatian and partly in German. To express himself, he used a lot of gestures with both hands. He just turned to me and gestured. He held the steering wheel with his knee. We were glad for good swiss highways. The trick on a worse road would result in a crash.
The traveling through Switzerland was pleasant. We didn't get a long-distance hike, but we didn't need to wait long anywhere after we got to good gas stations. The worst thing was the absence of the internet. We had data in the EU, but we would need to pay for the roaming there, and we agreed that it's not worth it. We would rather eat for this money.
From Lausanne, we stopped a couple that went deep into France and took us along. They belonged to demography that was the best for hitchhiking. They were a husband and a wife of our parent's age with children at university. They hitchhiked at a young age.
The traveling was good with such people. They had big cars. They were not used to throwing things on their backseat (not long ago, they would travel with children). They spoke good English even when they preferred French (in France usually), and they were interesting.
Usually, gas stations are the prime places to stop a car. In France, there are also toll gates. Cars slow down there, and you can wave at them. It's better on the gas station, but gates are everywhere where a country road connects to a highway.
When the hitchhiking was good, we changed our plans a bit. "Yes, tomorrow, we will reach Andorra and then Cape Finisterra (Spain), and then we return through Boyard (West of France)." So far, we were almost flying south from Switzerland. To Avignon and Marseille.
There, we finally started to be interesting just with the fact that we already hitchhiked from Prague to France. One driver was so interested in our journey that we gave him the link to Xchallenge webpages. At the time of the competition, we uploaded videos and photos of every challenge we did, and other people could follow us through the web pages. Then we gave the link to everyone who was at least mildly interested in following us.
It was getting dark when one driver took us to a toll gate. We stuck our thumb, waited, and the dust from the road was blowing to our eyes. The landscape changed a lot, Germany, Switzerland, and Czechia, it's all the same. Everything is green and moderately humid. We got to the Mediterranean climate. The grass was yellow, and dust was blowing in the air.
Then in a whirl of dust, a truck stopped. The driver invited us inside. I was sitting on the bed, and we were moving more south.
The truck driver was the first person who spoke only french. It takes a while before you can communicate in a language you knew just a bit before. I had French courses in high school, but I was doing math instead. Then I let my classmates help me with homework and tests. If someone had said I was level B1, he would overestimate my abilities a lot.
Ada had a certificate, so she spoke French a lot better. But there are not too many topics you can discuss with an old truck driver using a limited vocabulary. We found out that he works in fashion. The truck was moving clothes for the brand H&M. (It was hard to guess the spelling, the H is silent in French.) We sat quietly, most of the time. Twice, we gossiped about truck drivers that have too many lights on their trucks (the conversation was the same). It was a pleasant journey. We ate sweets that the driver offered and we thought about where to sleep.
A bit before Avignon, where the Autoroute de Soleil splits to the southwest and southeast, there is a big gas station and stop for truck drivers. Even on the map, it's big. It lies next to a river and under a castle. We decided to spend the night there. It's a great place. There are even showers and a lot of space for anyone to sleep under the watchful eyes of CCTVs. Despite the comfort, we had different plans. We decided to do a challenge. We wanted to sleep under the stars.
Exactly as Jirka taught us. We found some green space on the map and then walked towards it. It was the way to the castle. When we assessed that we hid from the eyes of someone who would walk on a frequented road, we put the tent on the ground, the mat on top of it, and we lay down. In the clothes, we didn't even need a sleeping bag.
Ada was sleeping peacefully, but I was afraid that someone would find us and shout at us, or even worse. And stones that were pressing my spine didn't help either.
We had three bags, two big ones, and the little sheep with all our valuables and permanent markers to write on the cardboard. During the day, we kept an eye on it. But during the night, it needed to be on the ground.
In the middle of the night, I woke up. There was some noise in the bushes. It was from the side where we left the little sheep.
Not to brag, but during my boy scout years, I invaded many camps and played many games in the night. So I know where I would attack from two sleeping. And yes, it would be from the side I heard the noise.
I pulled the little sheep a bit closer to me and listened. The noise got quiet, but I know well that the attacker can lie even for an hour without any movement before he attacks or moves. I prepared for it. I listened and watched stars. Thanks to my vigilance, I had seen a falling star. The noises didn't repeat, and I fell asleep.