I have continued to hitch with truckers. I have more courage to ask now, even though it is still hard. It’s not the rejection that scares me, but to bother people. To overstep, just by merely excisting. But I do it anyway. In Mozambique I learned to do it anyway. I saw people shamelessely speak their will, and nobody got hurt. So I try it, too. I set my own pace, take a breath to land in my body and project my will into the universe.

I am just one of the countless flows of energy.
There is no shame in that.

Yesterday I had managed to find a trucker who brought me from San Sebastián into France; an easygoing older man with bad teeth and a great smile. We spoke a mix of languages with my beginner Portugese as a bridge to his beginner Spanish, and Russian as a backup – he was originally from Romania. He was going to bring me further, but just outside of Bordeaux he got a call to change his shipment and instead bring a shipment of pigs into Ireland. So we parted ways at one of the big service centers and I left into the rows and rows of trucks to try and find a new ride further up. In less than ten minutes I found somebody willing to take me to Paris, leaving the same second.

This time I was in the hospitality of a talkative Portugese man, and again I thanked my shaky Portugese which enabled me to make contact. After a while though, as my brain got more and more tired, I could make less and less of a conversation. Ashamed, again, at first, but after I while I noticed that my participation wasn’t that needed – this man just wanted someone to listen and receive whatever he wanted to say, and I could do that. I got the jist of what he wanted to say, let the words layer themselves in my head and digested them slowly.

We drove the whole day and into the night. We didn’t make it in time as there had been massive queues on the way, but the driver offered me to sleep in the top bunk and I accepted.

(Not without hesitation, of course. And for whatever feeling of safety, I sent my location and a picture of the registration plate to a friend. But my gut feeling was telling me that it was OK, and cautiously I trused my gut.)

And how I enjoyed sleeping indoors! I slept like a rock, and in the morning we continued. The driver dropped me off at a gas station with many truckers, near to Paris and near to the road leading East before he went to unload his cargo. I gave him an amulet for protection on the road that I had made, got my stuff and switched my mindset to get ready to ask again: to approach, find a common language, speak my will and receive a reply. Check in with my gut if the person is OK. Settle into not knowing who will take me and where, not knowing how long it would take to find somebody.

Yet, now with a whole new outlook than just some days ago; now, after already having received rides until this point, I wholly believed that I would succeed and find somebody willing to take me further. The question just being who, and where.

…

(This story told in pictures.)