Wednesday afternoon:

Finally, after 2 days thumbing in Cesky Krumlov, I’m on my way to Prague.

It’s that weird thing with hitchhiking. You stand there for hours and hours wondering ‘will I ever get a ride?’ and then once you get moving your luck just seems to change and it’s one friendly helpful driver after another.

It’s only a couple of hundred kilometres from Cesky Krumlov to the Czech capital, but I have a series of maybe half a dozen short rides on the way.

By mid afternoon I am within fifty K’s of Prague.

I am stood on the side of a busy motorway for half an hour and then a lorry pulls up.
I’m in luck, I think, but actually the driver is dropping off another hitchhiker and then turning off to take a westerly road.

The guy who climbs out of the van is around sixty, with a leathery face and stringy grey hair clinging to his neck.
He’s about a hundred metres away, down the road where the driver let him out.
He casts a glance in my direction and I wave.
He ignores me and sticks his thumb out.

Now, I need to explain something about hitchhiker etiquette.
You don’t jump a guy’s pitch. It just isn’t done. If you arrive at a spot, and there is another hitchhiker there, you say hello and join forces, or you go further down the road and wait your turn.

This old guy is standing right in front of me, jumping the pitch, and to add insult, he’s ignoring me as well.

I’m a bit annoyed. It’s been a slow day. But I walk over and give him a friendly ‘hello’.

I don’t speak Czech and he doesn’t speak much English, but he manages to make it clear that he is not going to move, and that he isn’t going to team up with me because he thinks I’m in a ‘shit spot’.
He’s an old guy. What am I going to do? I think about going ahead of him, but it seems childish, and I can picture us trying to one up each other for hours, going further and further up the road.
I put a bit more space between us, grit my teeth and keep on thumbing.

Five minutes later, a car speeds past him and stops for me.
I like to think I’m not an above averagely vindictive guy, but I can’t help feeling karma has interceded.

I watch the old guy turn into a dot in the rear vision mirror. I feel a bit bad for him. Not that much though.

 

Prague… nearly:

My Prague beer pickup location is way out in the southern suburbs.

My luck is really in, because Milan, the guy driving, is going right past the address I’ve got. He drops me off right outside the front door.

This is not the glamorous, historic Prague of coffee table books. This is a tidy, rural, middle class suburb of green lawns and quiet streets that could be in any country in Europe. The motorway buzzes in the background, and miles of cornfields stretch away to the hills in the distance.

I knock on the door.
This is Mirek’s place. He is Innis & Gunn’s guy in Prague.
I’m kind of expected, but nobody, including me, actually knew when I would show up here…

A puzzled-looking woman appears on the balcony above the front door. She says something in Czech which I presume translates to ‘who the hell are you, scruffy looking fellow, and what are you doing standing on my doorstep with a backpack and a kid’s scooter?’
I try to explain as clearly as I can in English.
“Hi. I’m Manny. I’m the Innis & Gunn beer hitchhiker… er… is Mirek here?”
She looks no less puzzled, but she does come downstairs and opens the front door, which I think is quite courageous, considering the circumstances.
“I am Katja. What is your name please?” she asks me.
I introduce myself again, smiling as broadly as I can without looking like a lunatic.
“Do you know anything about this project?” I ask her.
“No” she replies. “Are you working with my husband, Mirek?”
“Sort of… yes. He has some beer for me I believe.”
I see a faint moment of recognition on her face.
“Wait a moment please I will call my husband.”

Katja takes out her phone, and dials.
I listen to her speaking for a minute. She smiles at me, less puzzled now but perhaps a little amused. She hands me the phone and disappears inside the house.

“Hello, Mirek?”
“Yes, hello!”
“I’m glad you speak English mate. My Czeck is non-existent.”
He laughs.
“No problem. You are wanting to collect the Innis & Gunn IPA, yes?”
“Yes! That’s right.”
“OK, my wife will give it to you. How is your journey going Manny?”
“Pretty well, thanks. I haven’t been rained on since I arrived in Czeck, so I’m feeling very optimistic. Also, my last ride dropped me off right at your front door. Very good luck. I’m sorry to show up without calling, but I have no phone service in Europe.”
“That’s alright. My wife was very confused but I have explained everything to her. Good luck for the rest of your journey.”

Katja reappears, burdened with a slab of IPA cans, which she deposits into my arms.
I give her the phone back.
She says something cautionary to her husband and disconnects the call.
“Thank you so much Katja. Sorry for any inconvenience” I tell her.
“You’re welcome” she sighs. “My husband is always bringing his work home with him.”

The sun is dipping below the horizon.
I find a clear patch of ground in a cornfield around the corner from Mirek’s place and pitch my tent.

I go down the street to the supermarket.
There is a dumpster full of fresh fruit and vegetables in the loading dock, so I load up with goodies and head back to camp for a healthy meal in the cornfield.

 

A big day tomorrow.
I still have to get into the city of Prague proper where the castles and monasteries and pretty touristic stuff is.
But right now I am just enjoying the warm autumn night, the shiny disc of the moon, and the rustling tranquility of the corn swaying in the breeze… and a can of IPA of course ;)

How does a hitchhiker transport a slab of beer?
On his scooter of course. I love this thing. It’s a two-wheeled pickup truck!
See photo at top of page. ;-)