The yarn unspun, Part One

The plan was simple. Two friends, were to get from London to Warsaw in under a week, using hitch-hiking as the only means of transportation. Well, that was the plan.

Officially, our trip started on the rainy Wednesday morning of 2nd September. Not wanting to set off under prepared, Dunc spent a few hours making sure he had everything in his backpack. Not wanting to set off under nourished, we headed to the Fiesta Cafe on Roman Road for our last fried breakfast for a long time.

It was now edging into Wednesday afternoon, and arriving at London Victoria (via the tube), we made the executive decision to take the train to Dover, if we were to make France by the end of the day.

Arriving at Dover, a shuttle bus took us to the ferry port. Our reliance on hitch-hiking, we decided, would be a continental European affair. The first ferry company we approached at the ferry port informed us that their last journey for the day had set off. Our stomachs sank. Our stomachs rose as we were informed that we could just about make the last trip that P&O had for the day. We were to make it to France by the end of the day after all.

Waving our goodbyes to the White Cliffs of Dover, we drank a few moderately priced beers and smoked a few cigarettes, safe in the ignorance of what was to come.

With the clocks set forward an hour to Central European Time, we disembarked on to French soil later than we had hoped. It was dark. We were on the last crossing of the day. And to top it off, foot passengers were only allowed off after all vehicular passengers had done so.

'Last time, we went that way, which was the wrong way.' Dunc surmised, pointing us in what he believed to be the right direction for the main road. Under sparse lamp posts, we trundled beside the road, at this point with a lack of traffic, hoping for traffic. Praying for a ride.

Then the heavens opened.

We had made it to a dual carriageway, with cars and lorries travelling at the speeds that they do on dual carriageways. In pissing rain. Our tempers began to fray. A fly-over provided shelter for a deserved break from an hours walk in torrential rain. Desperately we fought with a wet lighter to provide a spark for a much needed cigarette. Our hitch-hiking was lacking the operative 'hitch'.

Continuing our journey along the hard shoulder, we reached a sprawl of a junction, at which we were certain in which way to go. The problem was how to get to where we wanted to go. The split of traffic lanes reduced the space beside the road on which to walk. The nature of the convergence of roads led to an increase of traffic (coming from several directions at once). A field to our left looked like an option, but after further inspection, we discovered a river (well it was probably just a stream) cutting our path. We had to take the road and hope that whoever was driving on it was paying attention to what they were doing.

The rain had subsided in to a drizzle. The map seemed to agree with our bearings. In the distance we spotted what looked like a toll gate. The perfect place to approach stationery vehicles. All we had to do was keep walking. And wait for something to happen.