Last leg

Hamburg-Leipzig is a four hour drive. Not the most challenging distance. But the way crisscrosses between highway: first the Hamburg-Frankfurt axis, then around Hannover, you get on the Benelux-Berlin one and branch off to an obscure side-autobahn for the last bit. We were expecting to switch cars often and it felt like a good final test of how anal the Germans are with babies in their car.
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Squareholes

Amsterdam is not such a big city. Getting to the launchpad was only a short bus ride. The spot was good. With good traffic and lots of space for cars to stop. The sun was shining, the birds were probably singing far away from the highway… The only way for us to not get a ride would be that the Amsterdamers have no heart.
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Hitchhiker commando

As you all certainly remember, the plan was that, instead of going home from Paris the same way we had already crossed Germany, we would take a pretty long detour North. For no other reason than hitchhiking a few hundred kays in the Netherland. No survey of the babe-hitchhikability of Western Europe is complete without our favourite upstuck Northern friends, right? It only takes the guts to risk death through immobility. I was up for the challenge. And Weirdo… Who cares about him anyway.

Let’s open this little adventure with a quick recount of how sucky it is to hitchhike from a big place like Paris.
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Let’s not hitchhike for a while

It’s been an awful long while since last time. There hasn’t been much travelling since Cognac so I had nothing post-worthy. I’m back on the road now but, before delighting you with more baby adventures, let’s get you up to date on my sedentary adventures.

You kids must be wondering hard what we were going To Cognac for. Well there was this sort of off-record G8 summit where all the 1%ers were meeting up to drink champagne in fancy clothing and decide the fate of the world. You didn’t read about it in the paper, and you never will. I have my sources. Namely Auntie Pauline that is some sort of secret agent.

The plan was to infiltrate the heck out of the event using my unworldly baby-charisma; learn all we could about their evil plans and post it all over Wikileaks.
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Cutting up highway fences

Getting our of megacities is a hitchhiker trope. It is almost impossible. Paris is no exception. For our direction, we had three options. One very hard but from an easily accessible spot, one in the heart of the Massy-Palaiseau banlieue that looked like medium-hard, and one for which we had to ride the S-bahn for more than an hour but that dropped us in a village by a péage. So easy.

An easy spot out of a megapolis? We just had to check it out.
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Hitchhiking 700 kays on a Sunday afternoon

That bastard Uncle Hugo bailed on us at the last minute. We were supposed to go hiking in the mountains with him, but he probably decided that getting drunk with his buddies was a better idea. We found ourselves with no plan for the week. So I decided we should take Auntie Amalia home in Paris and spend a few days there. After not debating at all about the means of transportation, we all agreed to hitchhike up there. It was Sunday midday, after a 3-days weekend.

You guys might not be familiar with mixing hitchhiking and Sundays. So here’s a couple of facts for you: Sundays means no trucks, no professionals, and a whole bunch of families on a weekend trip with cars filled with junk to the ceiling.

Common hitchhiker wisdom: You. don’t. travel. on a Sunday.

In particular after a 3-days weekend.

And that’s exactly what we set out to do. Insane, right?

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Party in Toulouse

We were going to Toulouse for a big 3-days-party about wine, duck, and making fun of vegetarians. I settled for the duck.

It was a succession of grilling, going to bars, picnics in the park, all of it with no other kids my age. Thanks Universe Amalia was there to play with me.

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Was nice to see the southern Uncles and Aunties, but I think it’s adventure-time again. I wonder what’s next. Weirdo’s too hungover to tell me.

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It rained a lot