Getting to Brive was going to be tricky. We were leaving the heavy duty highways that had German drivers on them for the low-density franco-french highway of the Massif Central. It’s the middle of France, I bet you didn’t know that.
We needed to get to Brive the same day before 14. So I got Weirdo to get up at 6, load me, still sleeping, and the stuff and get to the hitchhiking spot already. I woke up already there, in one of those typical cafés where he was hard at work having breakfast.
We were on the onramp, with our thumbs up by 8:30. The final test. Were we ever going to get out of there?
Within five minutes, we were already speeding down the highway with our first ride.
They weren’t going that far, but they left us on the nearest Péage station. All the highway traffic had to stop there to get a ticket, and we would be standing right behind it for them to see us. The downside being no shop, no shelter, no return. We had to succeed. It also meant instant police-harrasment if the uniforms showed up.
Within ten minutes, we were gone again. OK, so there’s nothing wrong with the French actually. It’s only in Alsace that they suck.
All in all it was a glorious day. The weather was sunny, drivers were lining up to pick us up… We arrived at the meeting point in Brive two hours before Uncle Franek. So we had ourselves a fantastic lunch of bread, berlauch-butter, French cheese and radish…
I taught Weirdo to blow out dandelions.
And we had ourselves a little siesta in the hammock.
And when I woke up, Uncle Franek was there. And, surprise! He had brought Auntie Amalia with him from Paris in his big truck! More in the next post.