well I'm reduced to the hunt and pick method of typing, as the keyboards here are completely rearranged! Why?! Probably because they charge for internet by the hour...
So I left Sabrina and Rich's, and hitchhiked my way south. I got a ride with a really nice scottish man who told me stories of his friend who had been on the run from the law, and who was finally caught, and hung himself in prison. His friend, it seemed, lived at a million miles an hour, and burned away in the atmosphere. They had grown up in the same poor neighbourhood, and he had taught my benefactor that you didn't need to be born with riches to live an incredible life. It seems a shame that it was cut so short.
Next, an older scottish man picked me up and regaled me with tails of his glory days, when he was bumming around the world. Time caught up with him, finally, as he assured me it would with me, and he has three boys and a wife now. The boys are just old enough to be lighting out on their own journeys, now.
So I found myself on the outskirts of London, waiting at a truck stop for a ride out to Dover. I waited a long while and was losing hope when an eastern european truck driver finally motioned for me to climb into the cab. Our journey was a silent one as his grasp of english was tenuous at best, and my grasp of czech nonexistent. So he drove me to Dover, and let me stay on the truck aboard the ferry to france. And so I watched the white cliffs of Dover dissappear into the distance, and those storied beaches of Normandie appear at our bow from the windy deck of the ship, deserted except for me.
So I found myself in a town called Calais, France. The first person I met, a blonde student at the local university, exclaimed in broken english, "Welcome to the ass-ole of France!". I wasn't there 20 minutes before a crazy weirdo started following me around the streets. Harmless enough, he seemed, but I wasn't in a mood to take chances, so I ducked into the nearest bar. There, I met a french girl, a belgian girl and a french fellow, who instructed me on the difference between belgians and the french. Well, last call came too soon, but my weirdo was gone, so we stopped by one of my new friend's house to get the champagne, and down to the beach we went. We sat on the beach drinking and looking out at the faint lights across the channel - England - where I had been just that morning. Finally, saying goodbye to my new friends I walked back out to the beach, to pitch my tent in the soft sand.
So I left Sabrina and Rich's, and hitchhiked my way south. I got a ride with a really nice scottish man who told me stories of his friend who had been on the run from the law, and who was finally caught, and hung himself in prison. His friend, it seemed, lived at a million miles an hour, and burned away in the atmosphere. They had grown up in the same poor neighbourhood, and he had taught my benefactor that you didn't need to be born with riches to live an incredible life. It seems a shame that it was cut so short.
Next, an older scottish man picked me up and regaled me with tails of his glory days, when he was bumming around the world. Time caught up with him, finally, as he assured me it would with me, and he has three boys and a wife now. The boys are just old enough to be lighting out on their own journeys, now.
So I found myself on the outskirts of London, waiting at a truck stop for a ride out to Dover. I waited a long while and was losing hope when an eastern european truck driver finally motioned for me to climb into the cab. Our journey was a silent one as his grasp of english was tenuous at best, and my grasp of czech nonexistent. So he drove me to Dover, and let me stay on the truck aboard the ferry to france. And so I watched the white cliffs of Dover dissappear into the distance, and those storied beaches of Normandie appear at our bow from the windy deck of the ship, deserted except for me.
So I found myself in a town called Calais, France. The first person I met, a blonde student at the local university, exclaimed in broken english, "Welcome to the ass-ole of France!". I wasn't there 20 minutes before a crazy weirdo started following me around the streets. Harmless enough, he seemed, but I wasn't in a mood to take chances, so I ducked into the nearest bar. There, I met a french girl, a belgian girl and a french fellow, who instructed me on the difference between belgians and the french. Well, last call came too soon, but my weirdo was gone, so we stopped by one of my new friend's house to get the champagne, and down to the beach we went. We sat on the beach drinking and looking out at the faint lights across the channel - England - where I had been just that morning. Finally, saying goodbye to my new friends I walked back out to the beach, to pitch my tent in the soft sand.
