— Yo, dude! What the hell are you doing with your lady? What are you looking at? Get in! We’ll give you a ride! — the driver of the expensive Audi said in French with an Algerian accent. How did I understand that? I didn’t. I just opened the back door, sat Sveta down, squeezed in myself with my backpack, and the car took off from the side of the road.
— Where are you going? — the driver continued, exchanging glances with his friend sitting next to him in the front seat.
— I don’t understand French, — I said in English.
— Oh! An American! — he said in English with an Algerian accent.
— No. We’re Russian! — Sveta answered.
At that point, the friends perked up and started repeating to each other, “They’re Russian! Did you hear that, dude? They’re really Russian! Have you ever seen any living Russians? Yeah. But from afar, and these right here in our car! Wow!” How did I understand that they were saying this? Just by the characteristic international and familiar to me facial expressions and gestures.
- And what are you doing here? Where are you going? – he said, no longer hiding his excitement and interest.
Setting off from Barcelona, we knew that we would not be able to get to the place in a day. We knew that the route ran through areas without any transport. We knew that at night in March it was very cold here. In addition, the exact location of the village of Le Riols was a mystery to us.
The matter was further complicated by a complete lack of knowledge of the language. In addition, it was necessary to compare the names of cities and villages on the map, their pronunciation, as well as how the locals called them. In that part of France, these were three different things, but it became clear once we were there.
But we still moved from Barcelona by hitchhiking to the city of Toulouse, which was the closest large city to our final destination. And, as the authors of this resource intended, we spent the entire journey doing this very “blah-blah”.
Toulouse greeted us with the last rays of sunset. And as a result of our move, we found ourselves on the outskirts of the city near the metro station. On reflection, we needed to find a place to stay or go to the bus station. Instead, we went to the easternmost outskirts of the city to get onto the highway there.
Until that night, hitchhiking remained an unknown form of transport for us, but I really wanted to try it here. After having a bite to eat at the nearest shopping center, we got onto the highway connecting Toulouse with the city of Albi. It was on this road that there was a turnoff to the town of Saint Martin Laguépie. From there, we could walk to our final destination.
To get onto the road, we had to jump over a fence. And so we found ourselves on the side of the road. There were no cars. Very rarely did cars rush past at a speed of 130 km/h. I was not sure that they even noticed us. Here we wrapped our arms and legs in reflective tape and moved towards Albi full of hope.
And what was our joy when a big black Audi rushed past us and began to brake. For its inhabitants, we instantly became the personification of everything new and interesting that could happen to them in this French outback. They used all their stock of English to find out as much as possible about us and even our contact information. I was amused by how cheerfully and lively they were happy to see us, with what interest and animation they discussed us, translating to each other into French the circumstances of our meeting that they understood. We did not drive long.
Suddenly they agreed on something, nodded to each other and the guy behind the wheel said:
— We have food. You are travelers, that means you have little food. We’ll give you food. This is our turn right here. – and without slowing down, he drove the car into the pocket.
At the roundabout we got out of the car and he took a bag with a big M on it from the trunk. It contained the standard set: a hamburger, fries and a can of cola. With what joy he gave us this bag! How much pleasure from this simple act. To give food to those who, in his opinion, need it. Just like that, without asking whether we want to eat or not. And I was pleased to give him this pleasure. I took the bag with a grateful look, which surprised him. I had a feeling that I was accepting food in exchange for this pleasure, and not for the sake of the food itself. Probably, even in ancient times, people showed their hospitality, peacefulness and pure thoughts this way.
We said goodbye warmly, like old friends who had been given a lift. The car jerked away and disappeared, and we moved towards the small town of Gaillac, located a couple of kilometers to the north.
Along the way, we still hitchhiked, but there were fewer and fewer cars, and the evening gave way to late evening. The warm breeze gave way to a cool one and it was getting colder, when suddenly a small old van stopped in front of us. The driver invited us to get in, and after a short agreement it turned out that we were on the wrong way again. But he could take us to the fork, from which it was some 15-18 km to Laguépie. There was no choice. A few minutes later we were standing at a dark crossroads. One road went into the black forest. Here I caught myself in fear and doubt. Our friend was right. We had drifted quite a bit. And Sveta, as if nothing had happened, said: “Let’s go.” The night swallowed us up completely, but soon my eyes got used to it, and I began to distinguish the outlines of trees, bushes and forests fencing small fields. A stream was barely audible murmuring somewhere, and from time to time a bird would make a monotonous plaintive squeak. There were no cars here at all. We walked a couple of kilometers and I stopped.
- Stop! Listen! Do you hear?
- Yeah. Silence!
It is impossible to convey the joy and inspiration that I suddenly felt after the slushy, squelching Moscow, the eternally noisy, rhythmic Barcelona. After the usual sounds of cars and the hum of people, I stopped for a minute to listen to the darkness, dampness, night coolness and the movement of clouds barely visible in the night sky.
Fatigue finally overcame us and we decided to look for a place to spend the night. Our equipment allowed us to spend the night outside at a temperature of at least +10.
It seemed to me that it was even warmer here. We were walking along the road towards the village, when suddenly, around the bend, we saw the dark silhouette of a bus stop in the light of a single lantern. We entered this small, entirely brick building. It was very clean inside. A single bench was visible along the wall.
- We will stay here and try to sleep, – I concluded.
Having spread the blankets right on the floor, wrapped ourselves in the tent and pressed ourselves as tightly as possible against each other, we lay down. The last thing I remember before falling asleep was my thought: how interesting, we breathe absolutely synchronously, our inhalations and exhalations coincide. And it was very comfortable to breathe.