With and Without a Hitch

So yesterday I experienced something both formative and exciting—I hitchhiked from Munich to Nuremberg, my first taste of what I hope to become a regular mode of transportation! After wanting to try out hitchhiking for quite some time now coupled the encouragement and inspiration from one of my best friends, I finally got down to it. I chose a short distance for my first attempt (100 miles/160km), so that I wouldn’t have too long to go in case I encountered unforeseen problems.

The adventure went quite well, much better than I expected. To be honest, I didn’t think it was going to work, so that any success I might receive would have been fantastic in my eyes. And indeed, that is the perspective of the hitchhiker: laidback and humble demeanor, being grateful for any help received. Because that’s exactly what hitchhiking is: getting help from strangers. There’s no guarantee you will get any (not immediately, at any rate), and you can’t be picky when you do. It humbles you greatly, since traveling in this fashion is completely out of your hands; you have zero control over whether any car will stop for you.

So with that in mind, I set off to a spot highly suitable to hitchhiking, which I had previously found through online research. I used hitchwiki.org to search for potential pickup spots, and hitchbase.com to see which ones were the most effective. And indeed my chosen spot was highly effective: it was a long on-ramp for the A9, the highway that connects Munich and Nuremberg, with a shoulder as wide as the lane next to it, perfect for cars to stop in. At this spot, the road went straight for 100m, giving cars optimal visibility and time enough to decide whether to stop or not. The weather, despite the cold, was also as good as I could have hoped for during the dead of winter, the sun shining brightly in a clear blue sky warming my freezing body.

I had made a sign marked ‘NÜRNBERG’ for the occasion. Upon arrival to the pickup spot, I checked out where would be best to stand (luckily there was a footbridge that passed over the on-ramp that made this task perfectly easy), and stuck out my thumb. Traffic was moderate, with about 10-15 cars passing every minute. I waited for several minutes, my optimism never flagging, slightly smiling and hoping it would work. Honestly, it felt rather surreal, having only seen hitchhiking in the movies and I didn’t entirely believe that people would recognize my thumb as the hitchhiking symbol. It was one of those moments, which we’ve all experienced, in which we doubt even the most apparent and certain of facts. So I tried meditating for a little bit, not focusing on what I was doing or whether or not a car would stop, but just allowing whatever was going to happen to happen, letting the noise of the traffic couple with the warm rays of the sun wash over my being. This led me to ignore the truck that had stopped 50m or so beyond where I was standing (presumably to pick me up) until he started pull away after waiting for a bit for me. Though I was a bit frustrated for not being observant enough to look behind me every once and a while, it taught me a good lesson to not do it again. After a brief 25 minutes total, my hands and feet quite cold, a car finally stopped.

My first driver was a 25-year-old student, on his way back home from a night of partying in Munich. He wasn’t sure whether I wanted to get in or not, since he was driving 40km, only a quarter of the way to Nuremberg. But since my extremities were getting numb I jumped in, deciding that warming up and finding a ride later (in a potentially worse spot than where I was standing) was preferable to continuing to wait in the cold. We had an awesome chat, and he dropped me off just before the on-ramp to the A9 at a park-n-ride. It was near a tiny town in the Bavarian countryside, with much less traffic (2-3 cars a minute), but literally after two minutes of waiting, another driver stopped for me.

This one was a 50-year-old man on his way to pay his mother a visit some 30km away. He told me that though he wasn’t going far at all, he picked me up so that he could drop me off at the next rest stop, where he figured I’d have a better chance of finding a ride to Nuremberg. I couldn’t believe his generosity! After another amazing chat, (including a little explanation that the area we were driving through produced the most hops in the world, and him point out how they are grown) we stopped in the rest-stop store and continued our chat over a quick coffee, until he was on his way.

At this point, I couldn’t believe the quick luck I had been having, but my luck was about to slow down—dramatically so. To scout for a good spot, I quickly walked around the rest stop and decided to position myself just before the on-ramp, since there were many drives among the parking lots which all converged just before the highway. I walked into the woods to briefly relieve myself and returned to the road flaunting my sign and my thumb. I waited for quite some time (about twenty minutes) before getting too cold, so I walked back to the store to warm up for a couple of minutes. I had noticed that most of the cars leaving the rest stop were driven either by families with young children or foreigners (heaps of Dutch people for some reason) on their way back home from a ski-trip, the backseat heavily laden with equipment—people either with a good reason not to pick up a stranger or without enough space for one. Trying what I considered the best strategy for finding a ride, I looked for lone drivers at the gas pumps, and asked them whether they were going to Nuremberg. Failing at that, I returned to the on-ramp, asking the truck drivers on the way whether they’d take me. I had a few conversations in broken German and English with a few Eastern European truckers, and then waited some more with my thumb extended at the on-ramp. As cars continued to rush by, I observed the various reactions drivers had to my presence: if they didn’t ignore me completely, they either looked in astonishment or curiosity or shrugged at me as if to say ‘I’d love to, but sorry, buddy.’ What the hell those people who shrugged at me were trying to convey, I’ll never really understand. So I waited.

Just as my optimism was beginning to falter and the sun getting ever lower in the sky, a red car that appeared to be approaching too fast to bother stopping came to a halt just past where I was standing. He was driving past Nuremberg, but not into the city itself, and so with my hopes renewed, I hopped in. He was a 60-something auto mechanic, who appeared to maintain the accoutrements of a free-wheeling hippy. With rounded Lennon sunglasses and his well-grayed hair pulled back into a short pony tail, we puttered along the highway in his old car. He explained to me that he drove a car that was 22 years old because back then cars weren’t made with complex computers, making them much, much easier to repair. Along the way, he was feeling especially generous, and ended up driving into the city itself, dropping me off one bus stop away from the main train station.

All told, it took me just over three and a half hours to make the 100 mile distance. Though I could have made the distance in just under two hours for only 5€ had I taken the regional train, I didn’t hitchhike to save money. It was for the experience—to not only prove to myself that I could do it, but also to work out the kinks for when I make longer trips. I also was eager for the social interaction along the way, which is much harder to get when taking the train. I shared some cool stories and learned some interesting facts about German culture.

The most surprising observation I learned from my drivers was something they all shared with me: that they have seen far fewer hitchhikers in Germany as compared with only ten years ago. Although hitchhiking is fully legal in Germany—not to mention it’s the best place in Europe to do it, what with its excellent highway system and central location on the continent—the popularity of hitchhiking has declined. I’m really interested to figure out possible causes of this: perhaps the advent of cheap online alternatives to the trains, such as mitfahrgelegenheit.de, a ride share site, or more fear-mongering news than before? The general make-up of people and their outlook on the world can’t possibly have changed that much since then, so what’s different?

Despite this change, I was pleased to find that hitchhiking can still be done. I’ll continue to solve this riddle throughout the remainder of my stay in Europe (and once I return to the States), as I plan to hitchhike as my default mode of transport, whenever I have time enough to do so. My next journey will be from Munich to Cologne on Wednesday, a considerably farther distance (580km or 360miles), but a challenge I eagerly await. The logistics involved are much more complex, but I’ll prepare a bit more for the adventure by buying a road map of Germany tomorrow and doing heaps more research. I’ll write up a post later in the week to tell about how successful my journey was! Wish me luck!

Winter Running

So now that the wintry cold has finally descended upon us in all of its breath-snatching, soul-freezing glory, I thought it was appropriate to write a post about braving the icy climes in the name of good ol’ fashioned exercise. Temperatures have been colder in Germany than they have been in over 25 years, and I just read a statistic that almost 300 people have died from the cold in Europe so far. Also, a good friend of mine recently got terribly ill from attempting to run without hat or gloves, wearing just a T-shirt and shorts. (Silly man, though I must admit I’ve done stupider things in my day...)

Yes, I’m talking about winter running (in particular, but this generally applies to other outdoor sports too). Now while most joggers hang up their sneakers for the season or seek refuge in the warm and crowded gyms, some us of on the more insane side refuse to give in the Mama Winter’s freezing breath, completely disgusted by the thought of having to run many a mile on a treadmill or worse: not at all. You see, for more experienced runners and committed joggers alike, we possess an absolute need to run. As most of my friends know, I get quite grumpy, anxious, tired, and restless when having to suffer a pause from running. And after having had to run a 70-mile week on a treadmill once, those blasted machines make me cringe. So it’s out on the streets for me, despite the biting cold.

But winter running is an entirely different beast than running during any other season in reasonable temperatures. It actually requires a lot more planning (and clothes) than otherwise, and if you don’t prepare for it properly, could have disastrous consequences for your health.  “But surely I wouldn’t go running in the cold without appropriately dressing,” I can hear you saying now. I used think that, too. But sometimes you don’t have time to prepare, you forget your hat back in your apartment, and you think you can get away without it just this once...

WRONG. I can say that I’ve done it myself: I once got hypothermia from running in -10 (-23C) degree weather, and had to be brought back to proper warmth by wrapping myself in towels freshly hot from the clothes dryer. I had ridiculous long hair at the time, and could get away without wearing a hat for most of the winter, until temperatures dropped below 0....and it didn’t help that my gloves were of quite poor quality. Needless to say, it only took getting hypothermia once to prevent me from ever under-preparing that badly again.

So how do I prepare for such awful weather now? In one sense, the answer’s simple: the determination to first get you out the door into the icy hell that is winter, and layers. Layers of clothes, that is. Here’s a list of what I where in 5 (-15C) degree weather:

Compression shorts

Athletic shorts

Spandex pants

Spandex long-sleeve shirt

Long-sleeve cotton T-shirt

Dri-fit T-shirt

Synthetic quarter-zip long-sleeves

2 pairs of socks (one thick, one normal)

2 gloves (one winter running, one thick ski gloves)

Beanie

Scarf, wrapped around face like balaclava (I seemed to have misplaced my balaclava....)

The first things to freeze are the hands, so I take special care to prevent that at all costs. I’ve actually been getting into the habit of placing my gloves, hat, and scarf on the heater in my room so that they’re nice and warm before going out, because I’ve noticed how immediately my hands freeze when putting on cold gloves (they were sitting in a room that wasn’t heated). Also, if you have been sitting in a cold room and then try to run in the cold, you’ll soon regret it.

One crucial thing to keep in mind when you start running is that you’ll feel unnaturally cold for the first couple miles or so. It takes your body a little while to start generating more heat during winter exercise, but after the first couple miles or so you should be fine. A good rule to winter exercise is that you should feel a tad chilly when starting—if not, you’ll soon start to roast in your clothes! If, however, you are still very cold after 20-25 minutes, it’s best to head back home. In this case, it’s more than likely that you’ve not put on enough clothes.

Also, be aware that winter running is (as we say in Pittsburgh) slippy. Yup, not only is there ice, but when the treads of your running shoes are packed with snow, there’s no hope of regaining any traction. So be careful!

Otherwise, enjoy the muffled silence and lazily-falling flakes of the white stuff when running! Though in one sense miserable, winter running is in another quite a beautiful and calming experience. Not only because frolicking through a landscape covered in deep snow is quite the magical adventure in itself, but also because there are far fewer people outside. It gives you an excellent opportunity to reflect, or better yet to calm your mind, relaxing the processes of thought until you become pure reception of feeling and perception—it’s times like these where I find that we are the happiest.  

Ahoj Praha!

Prague from aloft

So given that I spent the past week in Prague, I suppose a blog post is duly warranted. What started out as a long weekend trip to visit a few study abroad friends I had met in Cologne three years ago turned into a multiple day gustatory and cultural adventure. 


The first aspect of Prague that impressed itself upon me is its stunning beauty. Well, I suppose more European cities would also be this spectacularly gorgeous, were it not for that pesky little ol' thang called WWII...but one interesting little tidbit about Prague is that it was never seriously bombed like the rest of Europe. So the architecture is incredible, there are heaps of statues a'plenty, and the sidewalks are a literal sea of mosaic stones. Plus, it's topography offers quite scenic hill-top views and a wide river to create some breathing space in the middle of the city. And with prices cheap enough to buy beer (at a club, no less) for around US$1.80--and the most gorgeous women--Prague is the place to be! 

Trdelnik fresh from the vendor 

One of the principle themes of my trip was to check out the delicious (albeit meat and potato heavy) Czech cuisine. Because prices were so low, I could afford--on my measly student budget, no less--to eat out every day during my stay (sometimes even twice a day), and to order meals replete with soup,  main course, and accompanying beer. Among the gustatory delights were Svíčková, or marinated beef tenderloin swimming in a plate of sweet-savory gravy, joined by those knedlíky guys (wheat dumplings), cranberry sauce, and whipped cream. Yes, you read right: the same whipped cream that we Americans put on cakes and other desserts has found its way onto slices of meat. Other notables are the bramboráky, which are sauerkraut pancakes, goulash, and beef tartare (admittedly, the latter two aren't traditionally Czech, but appear in nearly every 'Czech' restaurant there). On the sweet side, the trdelnik reigned supreme, which is a tubular pastry that can be found spinning 'round a wooden pole eagerly awaiting your enjoyment of it. There are almond and cinnamon varieties of them, and they're soft, flaky, a deliciously warm. Perfect winter treat! Beyond the food, there is of course the beer. Upon consuming glass after glass of pivo, it didn't take long for me to personally confirm all the good blandishments I had heard cast upon the Czechs' skill in brewing. Leaning more towards the dark beers, there was only one glass I didn't like (the ultra-cold and equally tasteless Budweiser Budvar I had at a Praha Sparta hockey match). In fact, a friend took me to an awesome pub that served over 150 different Czech brews, which I ended up going to another time as well.

My visit was extremely pleasant because I have five friends from my study abroad says in Cologne three years ago who currently live in Prague. Multiple times per day we convened and went about merrymaking. In fact, my one friend Martina was so generous as to meet me for lunch every day (thank Jebus she has a lenient boss)! When I wasn't meeting friends, I was either running (literally) several miles around town or footin' it for hours. When asked whether I had seen some of the more famous sites by Martina my second day there, I responded that I had quite actually seen them all in one run that morning! But because of the biting cold, I made frequent stops inside cafes and bars to warm up. Upon leaving the castle and descending the mount on which it sits, through the narrow streets lined with small and expensive shops and restaurants, I managed to find a decently-priced cafe that lured me in with it's epigram written upon the door: "tea is not dead." Indeed, the tea was delectable, but I quickly felt the attention I was trying to pay dear Nietzsche was quickly drifting away from my book. It always happens that when I travel, I much prefer to gaze out the window and contemplate as the world whizzes past me, rather than bothering to even pay heed to a book. Which was a good thing, because a self-proclaimed poet who was talking to a Turkish family piqued my interest--so I struck up a conversation with him, which ended up lasted well over an hour. I had never met an actual professional poet (he had published a collection of poems), and was eager to learn about his life. Much to my chagrin, he was actually an American who has been living in Prague for thirteen years, apparently sick of how things are handled in the US. Well we enjoyed each other's company so much that we decided to meet up the next day for lunch. I always do love those random encounters one has with interesting people when traveling. It never fails to inspire me and give me hope for the goodness of humanity.

So meet we did the next day, after my great friend William had arrived on the scene from Berlin for the weekend. Our conversation--in one of the most hipster cafe/bookstores ever--was highly enjoyable, spanning topics from the Rainbow Gathering and hitchhiking to how best to incorporate philosophy into everyday life and what the meaning of art is. Unlike some conversations I've had that dwell among the 'higher aspects' of life, this one was extremely casual and organic. Tangents were abundant, which is always the sign of a healthy convo, in my book. We chatted for almost two hours.

Comely ice maidens

Later that day, we met up with a couple friends and headed for the hockey arena to watch the Sparta play. We managed to get free tickets through connections with someone who worked there (and a shady transaction involving giving him a bottle of wine). It was most enjoyable, which is no surprise considering I'm from Pittsburgh, a place where hockey is quite dear. What did surprise me, however, is how cheap it all was: food for less than 2 Euro and beer for 2 Euro! Also, I was exceedingly confused by the comely maidens that skated to the goals to clean the ice every ten minutes. Instead of the random ice boys they employ in America to do the job, the Czechs dim the lights and shine a spot on four scantily-clad beauties who perform this duty. I couldn't stop laughing. 


That night, I had a taste of Prague nightlife. We went after sipping on a few beers at that great pub, which were sufficiently strong enough for me not to drink the rest of the night. But there are several hilarious anecdotes from this night. After the pub, we went to meet up with Moni and her friends for a night of bar and club hopping. After entering and quickly leaving many over-packed venues, we finally found a club with some room to dance. While there, I couldn't resist noticing the Prague wildlife--as I mentioned before, the women are absolutely gorgeous! Well, nor could I resist not talking to them. Now usually, I'm quite shy in social situations like these, and tend not to hit on women too bluntly or confidently. But on this particular night, the porters and stouts I had drunk had given me sufficient courage to approach the most beautiful women in sight, and say: "You may or may not speak English, but it doesn't matter, because I just wanted to tell you that you are incredibly attractive." When I had turned to leave, she stopped me and asked (in English) for my name, and we started a little conversation. Much to my infinite chagrin, she hailed from Texas and was in Prague for an internship. The conversation remained well-humored, but only that, and after a few minutes she ever-so-subtly brushed me off and left to rejoin her friends. Never able to pick up on such hints (I blame my ever-relentless optimism), I followed her and sat among her friends. When she was ignoring my attempts to talk with her again, another of her friends spoke words at me....but I was too distracted to care what she was saying. After a few minutes of boredom, I stood up, grabbed the Texan's hand, and kissed it goodbye (literally), saying it was a pleasure to have made the acquaintance of such a beautiful lady. Upon doing so, the dude sitting next to her--with his arm around her--duly informed me he was her boyfriend. Undaunted, I gently rubbed his chin, replied "hey, you're cute too!" and promptly left. Besides the inherent humor of this story, it marked a turning point in my skills of social interaction: I've learned from this that, despite anything you may say or do to place you into a potentially awkward (or dangerous) situation, there's always a way out! You just gotta keep your head about you, a smile on your face, and your sense of humor by your side. Also, I had one of the most hilarious conversations in 'Italian' with another girl as I was leaving the club. Throwing in assorted culinary phrases like 'frutti di mare' among bibbity bos and daddidi das, I hadn't had so much fun doing something random in quite some time. 

Dinner with old friends!

The absolute highlight of the trip, though, was Saturday night dinner. All seven of us (who had studied in Cologne together: me, William, and the five who live there) met up at Moni's place to cook a delicious vegetarian feast. I've been cooking mostly veggies as of late, partially due to a tight budget, partially because I'm freaked out by the quality of most commercially-available meat. I'm far from ever become a vego, but if I'm going to eat meat, by Jebus, it better be sanitarily and ethically produced! Anyway, we decided upon a menu of baba ganoush and spicy pumpkin-apple dip for starters, roast veg (featuring fennel, kohlrabi, celeriac, sweet potato, carrot, and onion), and apple pie and Linzer torte for dessert. Yes, two desserts for seven people. Couldn't have had a more delicious meal with better friends! 

All in all, Prague was amazing. I highly recommend, and will be returning there soon! Better end this post now before it becomes a novel....

Near the Charles Bridge