Monday 13 January 2014

To an old Canadian Hitchhiker - are you there?

It was 1963 or 4. I was hitching around Europe as a 21 year old Aussie and had landed up at this hippy hostel outside Alicante in southern Spain. It was an idyllic life – waking late, lying on the beach all day, partying in the evening. There were some drawbacks – bedbugs were rife and my macaroni fruit salad had gone down a bomb on my turn to cook. But my money was running out and someone had nicked my sleeping bag so it was time to hitch back to London. I had wired my bank to send some money to its branch in Paris.
Just as I was getting ready to set out this Canadian girl had an unfortunate accident. While drunk one night, a leg dangling outside a car window had collided with a telegraph pole and was feared broken. She also was broke and Spanish hospitals at that time weren’t great so Sir Galahad offered to hitch with her to London and the wonders of the British NHS.
We fashioned a crutch and with the use of my shoulder we started out. It meant however that we had to hitch from wherever we were dropped such as city centre roundabouts. She made it clear that there was to be no sex.

 
The first night we slept in a field – cold and uncomfortable. Our rations were bread and water. The next night we ended up at Barcelona youth hostel. Our driver kindly let us sleep in his car as we couldn’t afford a bed. The next night we found an unlocked car in Perpignan. The next day we arrived in Paris and got attacked on the metro by a French woman upset I think by our dishevelled appearance.
Eventually we arrived at the Gare Du Nord. I was stuck in Paris for a couple more days as my money hadn’t arrived. I saw a young smart looking English man. I tapped him on his back and asked whether he was going to London. He said “yes” so I said “could you take this women with you.” And plonked my companion on his shoulder and turned and fled.
I didn’t get far. I remember collapsing on the concourse from hunger and tiredness and watching people walk over me. I struggled through 2 days in Paris including a night in a local  police station before my money appeared and I could catch a train to London.
The Canadian girl – I never saw her again. So I don’t know whether she got back to England, how bad her leg was, where she lives now or even what her name was – it’s all a memory from 50 years ago.
So it would b great to see if she exists and what her memory was of this hitch hiking ordeal.