…’I have never hitchhiked’, Vladimir says.  ‘Only once.  It was during my time in the military.  I joined the Serbian patriots when I was just turned fifteen.  Tito was my commandant at that time’…

‘Poochera.  I sleep here once with my wife’ Vladimir muses.  ‘I think was here…’

Poochera is an almost non-existent settlement on a lonely stretch of the Eyre Highway, in South Australia. It’s a shit place to hitchhike.   I’m ecstatic when Vladimir pulls up, because I was seriously wondering if it would take days rather than hours to get a ride.
Vladimir is an elderly, dignified gentleman.  He is driving a comfortable Mercedes saloon.

(Top: with Vladimir, in Poochera.)

Five minutes out of town, Vladimir announces calmly; ‘I am almost run out of petrol.’
‘Do you think we should turn back?’ I ask.
‘No, no.  I think we can get to the next village’ he says.  ‘What do you think?’
I lean across and look at the fuel gauge.  It is reading almost on empty.  The fuel warning light is on. 
‘It might be a long way to the next service station’ I say, nervously. 
‘I think there is another village soon’ Vladimir says confidently.  ‘I think is Ceduna.  I sleep there with my wife once.’
I glance at my map. 
‘It’s more than a hundred kilometres to Ceduna’ I say.  ‘We might both be hitchhiking soon.’

‘I have never hitchhiked’ Vladimir says.  ‘Only once.  It was during my time in the military.  I joined the Serbian patriots when I was just turned fifteen.  Tito was my commandant at that time.  I fought against the Germans for two months, then I was injured.  The war ended a few weeks later.’
I am very interested in Vladimir’s story, but I am distracted by watching the fuel gauge drop.  Also, Vladimir is weaving across the centre line quite a bit as he talks.
‘Have you been to Serbia?’ Vladimir asks me.
‘Not yet’ I reply.  ‘Last time I went across the Nullarbor I rode with a Serbian, though.  Strange coincidence.’  I point out the windshield.  ‘Er, there’s a road train coming.’
Vladimir swerves back into his lane, and the massive double trailered truck roars past us.
‘Fucking cunt!’ Vladimir mutters. ‘Serbia is a beautiful country. You must go some day.’

‘I was in Melbourne two days ago, visiting my friend’ Vladimir tells me.  ‘The police stop me. 
They say to me: Have you had a drink today?
I say to them, every evening I have two glasses of shiraz and every morning I have a glass of Vodka.  But today I am driving, so I skip breakfast.
Breath into this tube please, the officer told me.
I blow in the tube. 
Are you sure you have not had alcohol today? the policeman ask me.
Yes, I said.  I am sure.
Well, he said, you are showing zero on my machine, so you are free to go, but please drive carefully sir.’

We approach the outskirts of Ceduna.  The needle is below empty on the fuel gauge, but we made it.
Vladimir drives slowly around the town, in circles.
‘There is a petrol station somewhere in this village’ he mumbles.
He bounces over the curb going around a round-about, pulls up short at a green light, then runs a stop sign.
‘I can help with the driving if you are feeling tired’ I offer.
‘Do you see a petrol pump?’ he asks me.
‘I think there’s a couple on the highway…’
‘Fucking, I will find this petrol pump! I have been to this village before, many years ago with my wife. We sleep here, I think…’

(The Ceduna waterfront.)

‘After the war I was still in hospital for several months. I was only sixteen, so I healed quickly. I was on a list to go to America.
The lady from the resettlement office came to me one day and told me, you will be ready to travel in a week, but the list of people who want to go to America is very big. It may be nearly a year before you can leave. Then she said; have you considered Australia?
I know nothing about Australia, I told her. Then I asked, how long would I need to wait to go to Australia?
You could get on a boat next week, she told me.
OK then, I told her, I am going to Australia.’

Vladimir finds the service station. I get out and fill the tank. I offer to drive again, and he accepts.
‘This is an expensive car’ he tells me. ‘Drive carefully!’
Vladimir sits back in the passenger seat as I pull out onto the highway. His eyes get heavy.
‘When I was in Melbourne I left my teeth in the hotel room’ he says drowsily. ‘I thought to myself, well, I am not going to drive all the way back. So I had a new set made in Adelaide. I like Adelaide. Not too big. I spent the night there with my wife once… I think…’

 
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