Today was much like our first day in France. We managed to hitch only short haul rides, but quite a few that added up to a lot of covered ground, somewhere around 250 km. We began by trying to hitch from Vielha to Lleida, our first lift being from Roman, who was transporting his elderly father home to the next town about 40 km down the road. He placed us in a lay by, where we soon had an interesting argument with a police officer regarding the legitimacy of hitch-hiking in Spain. Fortunately, we carried with us a letter from one Bryony Hutt back at Hitch HQ that made her quickly shut up and pester someone else.
Our second lift was from two awesome hippies, Kaymy and Hannah, who made it clear that they weren't sleeping together, in spite of appearances. He spoke pretty good English and when not on holiday, works as a tour guide around the whole of Spain for coach-loads of tourists. This came in handy when pointing out things of note and interest throughout the most beautiful 50 km of our journey so far.
Another lay by in a village, we were waiting for a couple of hours for a lift, turning down a ride from two guys that wanted us to pay them €100 to be driven the rest of the way to Lleida! A taxi would have been cheaper. We were eventually saved by Pedro, an elderly workman with a van that smelt like meths and every surface was covered with some kind of white dust. Aguet took up her usual role of entertaining the driver, but every time she spoke, Pedro turned to look at her, pulling on the wheel and almost swerving into oncoming traffic each time. Nat and I became very aware that we didn't have seat belts, so Aguet thought it was a good idea to stop talking. He dropped us in a better direction than Lleida, at a service station on the way to Huesca, where Jesus picked us up, speaking impeccable English and toting an incredibly comfortable car. He took us the rest of the way to Huesca.
At the petrol station we were dropped off, I saw an opportunity to shed some of the vast amount of change I've accumulated by only paying with notes like an idiot. Nat and I bought some Calypsos, spent a few minutes counting out the amount in small coins, when the clerk pushed the change and follies back at us, saying something that implied he'd rather give away free stock than have to count the pile we had stacked.
Carole finally picked us up and took us to a huge shopping complex just off the motorway near Zaragoza, where we tried in vain to hitch somewhere more convenient in the failing light. With nowhere around to camp, surrounded by motorway, I felt we had no choice but to check into a nearby hotel. It looked far too luxury for our own good, but turned out to cost about the same as the toilet we stayed in Toulouse. Except this time, we were greeted with perks such as WiFi and a bidet, the latter of which, I'm almost afraid to try and use.
So far we've had nineteen lifts (not including the ride with the officers) and are well on our way into the heart of Spain.
Our second lift was from two awesome hippies, Kaymy and Hannah, who made it clear that they weren't sleeping together, in spite of appearances. He spoke pretty good English and when not on holiday, works as a tour guide around the whole of Spain for coach-loads of tourists. This came in handy when pointing out things of note and interest throughout the most beautiful 50 km of our journey so far.
Another lay by in a village, we were waiting for a couple of hours for a lift, turning down a ride from two guys that wanted us to pay them €100 to be driven the rest of the way to Lleida! A taxi would have been cheaper. We were eventually saved by Pedro, an elderly workman with a van that smelt like meths and every surface was covered with some kind of white dust. Aguet took up her usual role of entertaining the driver, but every time she spoke, Pedro turned to look at her, pulling on the wheel and almost swerving into oncoming traffic each time. Nat and I became very aware that we didn't have seat belts, so Aguet thought it was a good idea to stop talking. He dropped us in a better direction than Lleida, at a service station on the way to Huesca, where Jesus picked us up, speaking impeccable English and toting an incredibly comfortable car. He took us the rest of the way to Huesca.
At the petrol station we were dropped off, I saw an opportunity to shed some of the vast amount of change I've accumulated by only paying with notes like an idiot. Nat and I bought some Calypsos, spent a few minutes counting out the amount in small coins, when the clerk pushed the change and follies back at us, saying something that implied he'd rather give away free stock than have to count the pile we had stacked.
Carole finally picked us up and took us to a huge shopping complex just off the motorway near Zaragoza, where we tried in vain to hitch somewhere more convenient in the failing light. With nowhere around to camp, surrounded by motorway, I felt we had no choice but to check into a nearby hotel. It looked far too luxury for our own good, but turned out to cost about the same as the toilet we stayed in Toulouse. Except this time, we were greeted with perks such as WiFi and a bidet, the latter of which, I'm almost afraid to try and use.
So far we've had nineteen lifts (not including the ride with the officers) and are well on our way into the heart of Spain.
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