Delhi Beer Frenzy
Marlene stares at me, wide eyed.
“You hitchhiked from Scotland?”
“Most of the way, yeah. All across Europe.”
“Aren’t you exhausted?”
“I could use a beer…”
Marlene stares at me, wide eyed.
“You hitchhiked from Scotland?”
“Most of the way, yeah. All across Europe.”
“Aren’t you exhausted?”
“I could use a beer…”
“Here’s the thing. Hitchhiking is… a complete shit show. Nothing ever goes to plan. Actually, scratch that, there is no plan. You set out, you keep moving and if you’re lucky you get somewhere, but hardly ever where you intended to be…”
“They were saying; ‘don’t take photos, because the kids will throw petrol bombs at you and they may go in our shops’. No shit. That’s what they said…”
“You want to see the Parthenon? I know the right way to do it; at the best cafe in the city!”
Maria is a very emphatic person. Greek-Australian. That’s emphasis x2…
To be or to photograph? That is the question. Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and tomatoes of outraged pedestrians, or to drop your arms and not make trouble.
Nicky waves his arms and yells something Bulgarian at the driver. The driver brakes. He doesn’t have a choice. Nicky is blocking the road. As soon as the van slows down, Nicky is at the side window, bellowing. The van accelerates and drives away down the motorway ramp…
“Listen man, you got me at the wrong time. Normally I would try and have a conversation with you about this but I just hit my head really hard on the bathroom door frame, and I have no patience for your stupidity right now…”
Standing beside the road with a gun in my face is a bit of a Tintin moment… but not a good one. This is a moment from one of the darker, more political Tintin books, where the hero finds himself on the run behind the Iron Curtain…
Luckily for me I’ve teamed up with a hitchhiking super star for my journey from Belgrade to Sofia. Also, I met a very cute stray doggie..!
I’ve only been in Serbia two hours and I’ve been threatened with arrest for having a conversation. I know I have a talent for getting myself into trouble but this is ridiculous…
“It was called Hungarian salami, but… Australian salami is not so good. We have all kinds of different ones but they all taste kind of the same.”
Pasti frowns and nods. “You must try some real Hungarian sausage…”
Sometimes I notice the membrane that wraps me. The way people look around me and past me. I don’t exist. It’s like nothing ever happened…