opinios

Flustered and discouraged by the wasted time spent trying to get to the place in town recommended for hitching from, I headed back to Bernd's house to write some new signs, glean some new advice from the hitching maestro himself, and satisfy my how ravenous hunger.

"It'll be a cinch" said Bernd. "I've hitched that run many a time".

In the face of a disheartening start I managed to find some renewed enthusiasm to meet the challenge. Having time restrictions, I wanted to get to Paris as soon as possible to catch up with Emma, rather than wasting time or money in parts of Switzerland that didn't really hold much interest for me. So, after a bite to eat, it was approaching 3:30pm by the time I offered my thumb to the first car.

I had my sign entitled "BASEL s.v.p.", my backpack clearly displayed on the side of the road, a big smile and the familiar hitch-hiker's pose. I hadn't given much thought to location, so luckily Bernd had chosen a part of the road that was out of the city, with plenty of room for a car to pull over. The sun was shining and there was plenty of traffic. Things looked promising.

Bernd hung around, out of sight. Being a hitching junkie he was curious to see how long it would take me to get a ride, perhaps recalling his first hitch and anxious to share the joy of my first hitch. What a shame that it came not two minutes after he had decided to cycle to the service station up the road to "check it out". Diane and her French boyfriend pulled over in their electric blue hatchback and offered to drive me part of the way to Lausanne. I readily accepted. This was it - I was off!

Diane was from Geneva and spoke quite good English, occasionally translating for her boyfriend. They were about the same age as me and good conversation. I waved frantically to Bernd as we screamed past, but I don't think he saw me. It was quite a buzz - how exciting, my first ride! And I think the people in the front seat were just as excited about picking me up and we had a great old chat.

I thanked Diane and her boyfriend and judged a reasonable place to stand. It had only been a 20 minute wait for that ride, and after Lausanne there was bound to be a plentitude of people going through Basel... so I thought.

It was after about a half hour that I began to experiment a bit. I tried a number of different approaches as the vehicles flew past me - I became quite the showman. I would slowly reveal my "LAUSANNE s.v.p." sign like a magician pulling a rabbit out of his hat, swirling my hands around it like Nikki Buckley would present a washing machine on Sale of the Century; next I would hold it up and look from the sign, to a passing driver, back to the sign, back to the driver; next I held it forward daintily and struck a ballerina pose; after that I shoved it forward at a driver and raised my eyebrows with a smile. Most of these techniques resulted in some form of driver reaction, whether it be a helpless shrug, a smile and a wave, or just a reluctant smile and shake of the head.

But then I drew out my wildcard.

I propped my sign on top of my backpack and pulled out my juggling balls. I would juggle away, and then abruptly stop and stick out my thumb while the balls dropped one by one to the ground. At least I was getting a few laughs - chicks found it hilarious. But no-one was stopping.

Eventually a car pulled over. Julian from Belgium apologized that thier car had no back seat (like I cared!) and he explained that he had done some hitching around Switzerland, which is why he picked up other hitchers. We had a few things in common, including the fact that we had both spent some time in Tokyo, and that he had just finished an engineering degree at Lausanne University. His girlfriend Valerie sat quietly and did not speak. I got the impression that she could understand English, but the vibes she sent out were either that she was very shy, or just disapproved of hitch hikers.

Julian suggested that I try getting a ride just before the cars turn onto the highway to Bern, and I thanked him heartily even though he had only taken me twenty minutes up the road. By now I was buzzing - Bernd was right, this was a gas! In good spirits, I positioned myself just before the highway ramp and started my routine all over.

I could see that this was going to be a tough place - the cars drove faster, there was less room to pull over, and potentially cars would need to cross several lanes to do so. I was undeterred however, and valiantly tried everything I could think of short of running out in front of the cars to make them stop. Big smiles, direct eye contact with every driver, juggling, dancing, a sexy "going my way?" shake of the hips, I even did a few handstands. My antics were attracting the attention of several locals watching from their balconies afar.

My last psychology manipulation was a bit puppy-dog-eyed pout, looking up with desperate hopefulness at each car. It was continually confronted with cold, uninterested stares. Well, it was a Saturday night - anyone who had a life was out living it.

Four hours later, the sun went down and I bit the bullet and disdainfully boarded the train to the city centre. Hitching during the day is one thing, but the clientele speeding past me was simply not congenial to the type of person likely to stop and offer me a ride. I did have a couple of cars stop during that time, a German bloke and a couple of Swiss girls. But neither of them had seen my sign (the sun was behind me) and weren't headed in the direction of Bern. Plus I began to see a few shady, grumpy characters drive past, and started getting visions of a freezing, uncomfortable night's sleep on a patch of grass by the highway.

Luckily I was able to get the last connecting train to Basel, arriving at quarter past one in the morning. The hostel reception closed at two, and it was a half hour walk from the train station according to the guide book, so it worked out ok. After hunting down a staff member among the young partying Dutch crowd, I got a key to a room and was asleep before my head hit the pillow.

My first day's beginner's luck did not quite last me the full day, and I was 57 Swiss Francs out of pocket for the trouble.

Submitted by Matthew Magain