When there’s no current updates on the WorldWalk tour we’ll try to dig something up from the archives and share a story or two written by István or Ferenc. All these retrospective posts will have this visual mark and a short introduction.
So, you might wonder what is a hitchhiking story doing in a walking tour’s blog. But as you might have heard, after the African stage WorldWalk-Peacetour was forced to take a winter break due to financial reasons, and common sense dictated them to get back to Europe the fastest way they were able to come up with.
by ISTVÁN IVANICS
So, this is how it all happened... Soon after we arrived in Dakar we started to realize that it was impossible to find a cruiser or freighter heading towards North America, there was no choice, we headed back to Europe. After walking through the Sahara desert we were not that stupid to walk all the way back, so our only chance was hitchhiking. It’s fast and cheap.
Dakar—Rosso—Dakar
We started hitchhiking at 1 PM and a young French couple picked us up almost instantly. They had a truck converted to a caravan, but they had to drop us off after Thiès (60 mi), because we were stopped by the police for the third or fourth time there, the truck had a cabin for only three passengers. It was almost dark by then.
Next morning we tried to get a lift for hours, and got one to St. Louis (120 mi), we walked to the city border and continued hitchhiking ’til dusk with no luck. On our third day a Frenchman and his local colleague took us to Ross Béthio (35 mi), there a taxi passenger picked us up and we were at the border in no time, we arrived in Rosso at noon (30 mi). We spent the next 6 hours at the border just to find out we had to go back to Dakar for the visa. Can you believe it? When we entered Mauritania from Morocco we bought our visa right there for some 20 Euros, but you cannot buy visas at this border. Our 250 miles in the pocket were converted into 250 miles to go in an instant (or 500 miles :). We were quite angry, disappointed and exhausted.
So, we were on the roll again. A taxi driver stopped by us and stuffed our backbacks in the trunk of his car and us into the full cab (with six passengers already inside it) and on we went. For a few yards or so. Then the gearbox broke down and we had to stop. I guess that was the shortest distance I had ever traveled as a hitchhiker. :) We soon got tired of hitchhiking and walked 3 miles to the next police post. We were contemplating the local scenery from the shade while our friends got us a car that took us to St. Louis. That’s fine service...
We started the next day still in an angry mood, but soon another Frenchman gave us a lift to Thiès, he was driving like hell. While we were walking through the city we tried to get our next ride, that’s how we managed to stop Adjid (a French businessman with Moroccan origins who lives in Dakar). This gentleman took us to Dakar and gave us the keys of his yard shed (with a room, shower and TV). We can’t thank him enough, by then we were at the edge of bankrupcy.
Dakar—Nouadhibou
In Dakar the visa cost double the amount than at the Moroccan-Mauritanian border. We spent a week at Adjid’s place, still trying to find a ship heading for America. Then a monetary help from our Hungarian friends helped us buy the visas, and one of Adjid’s colleagues gave us a ride to St. Louis with a night stop at his place in Thiès.
For obvious reasons (last time my brother waved good bye with his middle finger to the officers) we didn’t want to cross the border at the Rosso border station, so we chose a smaller nearby crossing point. After spending our last night in Senegal we crossed the border on foot, to discover that the paved road ends in Mauritania. We spent the whole day watching the local wildlife waiting for cars, but none came. Right in the moment when we were heading off to find a campsite a miracle happened. As we discovered later, a tad unpleasant miracle. We spent the next 60 miles sitting on melons and bags at the back of an open pick-up. With 70 mph on a dirt road and the night falling. How’s that for a comfort? After a stop in Rosso we arrived in Noaukchott (130 mi) late at night.
We spent that night at Auberge Sahara again, and the next morning we found out that winter winds in the Sahara are very-very cold. After an hour of shivering, as a lovely surprise Tomy stopped by us with his truck. Tomy is a very kind man from Jo'burg, South Africa with a Bud Spencerish look. We had met him in September, in our 12th day in the Sahara he helped us out with some dried turkey, beef sausage, soda and some money. So, we traveled the next 210 miles with him, and spent the night at an iron ore charting camp (where he was working), took a shower then ate some pizza and drank some whiskey-coke. Next day one of his colleagues dropped us off near the Moroccan border.
Nouadhibou—El Aiaun
After some two hours we got a lift to the border, and the officers let us cross the neutral zone walking. It was like a Mad Max movie scenery, the desert all around us with burned out car wrecks everywhere. We spent the night on the Western Saharan side of the border. Our hopes of getting a ride were quite low at that moment. All the cars were full of people and junk. Our thumbs were getting tired, but at 3 PM a French hippie couple stopped and gave us a 190 miles ride to their camp near Dakhla where we spent two nights.
After this break our luck seemed to run out, after a whole unsuccessful day we spent the freezing night near the road, taking cover from the cold wind behind a stone wall. Next day, almost the same, until 4 PM, when a Spanish caballero, Juan gave us a lift to Boujdour, where we spent the night in the very same cheap motel we had stayed four months before (on a sanitary stop due to diarrhea :). Next morning we continued with Juan to El Aiaun. There we said good bye to him (and he drove on to Spain!). If only we knew by then. But we weren't sure if we were going to go to the Canary Islands or to Continental Spain.
We bought ourselves new pairs of jeans, had a tea with old friends in town, and were having discussions online about where to go next. We opted for Málaga, bought some food enough for two days, walked through the border between Western Sahara and Morocco and spent there two whole days, hitchhiking. The third day, with circles around the eyes, right after dusk we said to ourselves: Enough. It’s over. We can’t go on like this.
El Aiaun—Tangier
But then fate picked us up from deep shit and cleaned us in a heartbeat. Why? A Moroccan guy stopped (he was with his girlfriend and his mother), and took us to Guelmim (240 mi) and as if it was perfectly common, payed our coach tickets to Casablanca (some 470 miles), hugged us both and went on. In a quarter of an hour we were traveling, unbelieveing. Next morning at 9 AM we jumped off the vehicle with smiles attached to our faces.
And the miracles went on, from Casablanca to Mohammedia (10 mi), to Rabat (50 mi). Then just as we were getting ready to turn in for the night, another car stopped, two Moroccan guys gave us a lift to Tangier (140 mi). Some 30 miles before Tangier we saw the first rain in more than half a year! And it was an amazing great a storm. The driver payed our stay in a hotel so we spent our last night in Africa in a luxurious way.
Algeciras—Málaga
Another monetary help from a Hungarian friend helped us buy ferry tickets and the next afternoon we were getting off the ship in Tarifa, Spain. We took a bus to Algeciras. It was raining like crazy, so next morning we walked to San Roque all wet, smelly and not quite happy with the situation. We spent two days in San Roque, trying to get a lift but it was hopeless. They helped us in the pensioner’s home with a fair amount of cheese and milk-rice, then we took off and walked to Málaga in four days. We gave up hitchhiking on the third day. It was impossible, you were able to see it on people’s faces. We arrived to Málaga on the verge of distress.
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