How open should we be?

Advice for a hitch-hiker might be: Be as open as you can, trust your intuition, empower yourself, learn from others, and enjoy the long, free road!

As a hitchhiker, couchsurfer, solo-cyclist… In fact, as anyone involved in any kind of financially free lifestyle, there are important ways to approach things and valuable lessons to learn. One thing I learnt early on was that it is a deep-rooted philosophy of mine that we should take what we need and give what we can. That means that if you have a roof you can share, you ought to. If you have food to give, do so. If you can spare a seat, you should. And most of these ground rules have come from receiving. From being offered everything from couches to temples, caviar to bread, sports car to back-of-the-truck rides. Such generosity from others spawned in me a firm belief that I must give back whenever I can.

So to suddenly be faced with a living situation involving people who feel quite the opposite about this philosophy, is somewhat disheartening. I am trying to understand more about personal space, about fear of danger, about not wanting to give what you don’t need to… but with no room for compromise it’s feeling awfully bleak. Do we really want to live in fear of ‘something going wrong’? Do we really want to base our choices on the (more unlikely that likely) chance of danger coming our way? Because for every fear we choose to obey, a thousand loves are lost.

We could be living open, living free, giving what we can and taking only what we need. Rejoicing in the goodwill, appreciating the lessons, the stories, the help that travellers can offer us. We could swollow our fears, hitch and be hitched, couchsurf and be couchsurfed, love and be loved. We could do all of this with a clear head and an honest intuition, and in doing so avoid the dangers and reap the benefits.

And we are not powerless, even once an unsavoury situation is upon us. Often, while hitch-hiking or solo travelling, people have asked: “But what would you do if ‘the wrong person’ found you?” My answer is of course, firstly, that I choose not to live in fear, and to project positives… but then I answer: “If something were to happen, I would assert my power, remain calm, and deal with it”. It has happened, once or twice in thousands of interactions, that I found myself with someone who wanted to push a little too far. By following this philosophy and process, it has never turned ugly.

The point is though, I know where I stand when it comes to couch-surfers, hitch-hiking and this giving philosophy. But how to do I stand united with the people I live with, if our foundations are so opposed?

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Courage: n.

Most of our dictionaries will tell us “courage” is the ability to control (or conquer) fear. I’m often cited for being ‘courageous’ while out touring, hitchhiking, or traveling as a solo female… and yet: none of those exploits instill much fear in me. A little anxiety certainly, a healthy dose of anticipation, and perhaps a touch too much excitement, but fear? No, the open road speaks to me of possibilities, of adventure, of freedom. Societies initial ‘impending doom’ scenario is soon superseded with the reality of universal care, and though we may walk out the door in fear, soon the sky opens, the road widens, and your oyster tastes sweet.

If we have an understanding of what to expect, of our tools and our surroundings, then we are much less likely to be gripped by fear and therefore less likely to be feeling Brave. An outsider, who has never ridden a loaded bicycle on a deserted road, undoubtedly encounters uncertainty, insecurity and fear at the mere mention of it. But to the rider, who has become accustomed to life at a 15mph pace, and who has a map of all the waterholes, it has become a grand expedition, a soul-building, freedom filled experience. Our amount of courage is in direct proportion to our depth of fear.

So, I think it’s safe to say that while ‘out there’ on the highways and byways of the world, I’m not being very courageous. That’s not to say I’m not a courageous person. On the contrary, I like to think of myself as being very brave and bold. In fact, I just moved into a small house in a Midwest town knee deep in snow, with my lover (short one fully functioning leg) and his mother – with the somewhat delusional intention of ‘settling down’. If that doesn’t take courage, I don’t know what does! After three years of constant movement, and a childhood built on sporadic upheaval – being in one place with four walls and a roof, and looking for a job – well, it’s a little scary. Add to that a body and mind that don’t know of weather below 10 degrees Celsius, and you’ve got yourself some serious fear.

We congratulate our explorers on their bravery and we question our comrades who stay at home, but you may not have to rage the flood, or roam the field or climb the mountains crest – for a little bit of courage, just add fear.

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Coming Full Circle

I have a vivid memory of the first time I saw the San Juan Islands. In a park, somewhere on the Washington Coast I took photos of a magic sunset, beams of light pointing down to the spattered land masses while my good friend Sarah stood close, both us smiling, calmy content.

When I pedaled down to Washington Park in Anarcortes, three years later on the final day of my bike tour – it was with a leaping heart that I realised: I recognised where I was.

Complex patterns on a map are usually the only reference I have for my surroundings… If I’m familiarising myself with the area, it’s generally on the way out of town. In the Carribean I was comforted by well-known trees and plantlife… now I was soothed by seeing old photos come to life. The pier we dangled our legs from still stood, sturdy as ever, and it may well have been the same fisherman tying up at the dock after another long day.

This syncronicity marked the beginning of a beautiful period. Old threads are pulling together – old friends, old memories, clearing through the cobwebs. My welcome into Vancouver was from a familiar face – James, the first stranger I met on my coast-to-coast, way back in Nyack, New York. Originally from Canada and visiting for the week, he came to escort me off the ferry and, through his brother organised amazing accomodation for my stay in the city. A beginning and an end.

Then I got my oldest friend ever, Ange, like a lung full of fresh air. Her familiar sneezes, her tales about Australia… the tim-tams in her backpack – all such comforting delights! The same city brought me Leon too, the Irishman I cycled with through Ontario who had also just arrived by bike. We ate ice-cream and giggled over coffee, able to pick up where we left off. It was rejuvenating to take a break from the usual 20 questions, all the getting-to-know you fluff.

If ever there was a story that needed an ending, it was Guisepi’s – (freeteaparty.org). We met during my last trip to the States, and frolicked together up and down the coast, falling in love along the way. To credit just one person for igniting my wanderlust would be too simple and too difficult – but there’s no denying Guisepi is partly responsible. He sparked my love of freight trains, he dumpstered my first bin-meal and just generally set an example for low-cost, high-adventure, freedom. I flew home, that time, with a broken heart and a longing to return… it took three years and a lot of other journeys – but finally I made it back.

So hugging him again, after only loose letter and email contact, felt as complete a circle as any. We spent a long time just looking at eachother – waiting for the surreal to become reality. Then it was a full week of endless chatter, sharing all that we have learnt in the absence and inspiring eachother once more. We wrote letters by the lake and rode our bikes over the hills… we made tea every hour, tried Tibetan and Chinese brews and read stories from our books (his on tea, mine on bikes) until the night came to a close.

More serendipity and I found myself a ride to Eugene with Mariah, a Madisonian and someone I felt I knew already. With a reloaded bike I managed 5 days of blissful pedaling down the coast, across the Oregon/California border… until time ran out and I went back to thumbing it.

My Dad and Niece were arriving to San Francisco airport at 10 o’clock Saturday morning. Straight off the highway, I stumbled to the arrivals terminal at 10.20. Dads suspenders, flannel shirt and beat up suitcase were easy to spot and tears came as I hugged him again after almost three years. My sister and her partner Dani flew in from Barcelona later that night, and for the first time in a long time, I went to sleep with family under the same roof.

Burning Man 07, Guisepi and I meet again

Old-school – Burning May 2007

Guisepi my long lost friend :)

I could be writing to YOU

We got a little carried away :)

SWEETEST stamp set EVER

Letter writing day by the lake! So fun, and the sun is out for my journey here!

Hand blending Po Cha, yummy salted creamy buttery Tibetan tea!

Tea makes the world go round!

Guisepi aka the tea man

Owen in the ‘always on tour’ kombi. We met 4 yrs ago at Burning Man…

Ange and her friend Colin, who I met 2 yrs ago in London

Ange sorting burning man costumes!

My route maps layed out :) wooo that was a long ride!

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Notes on Numbers

17,415. If we were talking money I’d be richer. If this number represented how many books I’ve read, I would probably be smarter. In fact, I’ve become wealthier and wiser. It is, roughly, the amount of kilometers I have spent cruising highways and byways in someone else’s vehicle. Cars of all makes and models, buses, trucks, trains, scooters… ten countries, seven languages and a dozen road companions (though more than half were trecked alone).

A french friend boasted to me recently that he had covered more than 30,000kms with his thumb. It is not the digits that interest me, but, for a laugh, I calculated my own. The experiences, friendships, smiles and lessons learnt are what keeps in my memory of course, and no symbol, mathematical or otherwise would do to express these. 248,785 is a number with more weight to me: the litres saved on petrol from hitchhiking those 17 thousand kilometers.

“If I seem to boast more than is becoming, my excuse is that I brag for humanity rather than for myself and my shortcomings and inconsistencies do not affect the truth of my statement”

For those of you who continue to insist that ‘autostop’ is dead, or dangerous, or impossible, and who refuse to hear the stories… stare into these figures, mine and others of much more grandeur, and realise the truth. If what you seek is freedom, if where you want to go is further than you can buy, if you wish to understand humanity and restore you’re faith in it… follow the dotted white line, it will take you there and beyond.

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Free Rides

One morning, a few days ago, I recieved an email from a dear old friend, asking me when I’d be coming to visit. Knowing I would be heading East, not West (towards her) come November, I told Ange: “How about tomorrow?”

Found something out: if you rub your arms as if to say Always keepin the spirits up...

Since then the Waifs song “I’m in London still” has been playing and replaying itself through my mind. When i set out from Amsterdam it was a sunny autumn’s day, and it was within a few hours that i found myself in Oostende, Belgium. There, I headed for the trucker’s area at the port for ferries crossing to England. The fourth one I asked was the first to speak any English, a tall, lanky fellow from Czech Republic. He was more than happy for me to accompany him, so together we went into the office to show our passports and collect our free meal/bed tickets.

The ship was delayed by 3 hours, and the ride itself took 4 and a half, so it was near midnight when we finally set foot in the UK. I had intended to keep on towards London, but don’t ever enjoy hitching by dark, so I took up his offer to rest the night in the cabin of his camion. Of all the truckers to pick, he was certainly the best. A completely harmless, gentle 28 year old, a child at heart and one of the few I would trust enough to sleep in the same room with.

It was 8am when we set off again, an hour later he dropped me at a petrol station just south of London. A few more quick rides, a tube or two and there I was at Liverpool Street, surrounded by more Aussie’s than British.

The next four days were spent in great company, chilly weather and in keeping to the song, a trip around Camden Markets.

Wednesday I was out on the highway again, this time with Erik (he had hitched up two days earlier for a bit of London light too). We didn’t get across to France until late, so spent the night somewhere near Calais, in an old neglected Truck cabin, warm enough considering the below 0 temeperatures!

this is my

A day of exhausting, freezing hitchhiking followed, several rides, several hours without rides, ending with a warm dinner at some strangers house. Hearing that our last meal had been just an apple each earlier that morning, he took us home, introduced us to his wife and told tales as we munched down the delicious food.

By 8pm I was back by the canals, resting up at Mandy’s house. Holland is the closest thing i have to home in Europe, and it sure feels nice to be here again. Home, sweet home.

Found something out: if you rub your arms as if to say “its really cold!” you’ll get a lift in NO time! works a treat!

Always keepin the spirits up…

it’s a bit chilly!

this is my “its fucking cold and im tired” face. Ive been working on it quite a lot lately. dear oh dear.

painting day..

candles candles and more candles…

our gumtree painting :)

contemplating the sunshine

Mandy’s flat… its the one behind the tree

this is the street we live in :)

setting suns outside mandy’s

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Thoreau and leaves that are green, turn to brown.

“One farmer says to me, “You cannot live on vegetable food solely, for it furnishes nothing to make bones with”, and so he religiously devotes a part of his day to supplying his system with the raw material of bones; walking all the while behind his oxen, which with vegetable made bones, jerk him and his lumbering plough along in spite of every obstacle.

Some things are really necessaries of life in some circles, the most helpless and diseased, which in others are luxuries merely, and in others still are entirely unknown.” -Henry David Thoreau-

And so by this standard i wish to live. Understanding that most of what I have are indeed luxuries, of which I am capable of doing without. Challenging the status-quo and simplifying religiously.

candle light dreams

where i want to live!

the sun is STILL shining over here… despite what the dutch will tell you

my lief and my love

super lettuce?

no! dumpstered food!

teaching mandy how to use my camera :)

huck the hobo

haha, total 80s nerd

running for the night train

young and freeeeeee

rolling down the rolling hills

excuse me sir, do freights roll by here?

no? well, can i have two beers then?

here’s to dutch rail workers!

and could i have the number to call to get ALL the information i need? Thanks!

thats right folks, just jump right on

hmm… reckon you could ride that?

paris on wednesday eh?

step right up…

A driver looks at me questionably when i speak to her of my diving in dumpsters, wondering if picking me up was such a good idea after all. I wish to make a film, so succinct and well-rounded, that I may hand it to her and open up her world. That she may watch it and immediately understand Thoreau’s (and my own) philosophy, realising that “this spending of the best part of one’s life earning money in order to enjoy a questionable liberty during the least valuable part of it,” is neither rewarding nor rewarded. That I may save my breath while cruising the highways with her, and avoid my verbal blunders in an attempt to convince her of this lifestyle.

The film has yet to be realised but the process has begun. I’ve been collecting footage along my journeys and hope to have a realised product withing a few months.

In the meantime, of which I am most concerned, hours have and will be spent living and loving. Freight trains are rolling over my heart again and cold, dark, windy adventures are plentiful. An auto-rack rumbling around Holland has provided moments of magic, and plans for Slovenia are coming together. Hopefully another will carry us there. By November, Mandy and I will be rolling, riding and rambling southward. There are some big, white, snow-covered mountains awaiting us there and my feet have already begun to itch.

Until then, I can be found down by a silent lake, boiling my own beans by an open fire and watching the sun’s movements from dawn til’ dusk. A little tent and some words on paper to keep me company, I’ll wait there until the loneliness washes over me, filling in the empty pieces to this somewhat jumbled puzzle.

I know that a person is rich only in proportion to the number of things they can afford to let alone, and so it will be that the moon, stars, sunrise, and a few ‘necessities’ will be my only treasures for a little while.

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