READ #1 HERE: @martibis/when-the-road-calls-1
I walk out, fumble for my cigarettes, and pause underneath the canopy. A soft rain is coming down and a slight breeze makes me shiver. The morning sun is entirely blocked by darkened clouds, and it occurs to me that I’ll have to get used to the Belgian weather again. The airport is already bustling with activity. Three scenes catch my eye: a suited young man hurrying inside, almost tripping over his own feet; a young couple saying goodbye, both with tears in their eyes; and a family with two little kids - and oversized bags - looking for their check-in. I wonder about their stories. Is he about to miss his plane? Did she get an awesome job offer on the other side of the world? Are they visiting a slightly crazy aunt in Brazil?
I light my cigarette and make my way toward the airport’s parking’s gate. It’s the spot from which I always hitchhike home. To my relief, it feels as if not much has changed around here. Ten minutes later, a grey Volvo stops.
“Where are you going?” the driver asks with a smile. He seems to be a cheerful middle-aged man accompanied by a woman.
“I’m on my way to Ghent, but any gas-station on the highway would be awesome!”
“You’re in luck, we’re headed to Ghent ourselves, hop on in!”
I quickly throw myself and the backpack into the backseat of the car.
As I close the door, the woman turns around in her seat. “No one to pick you up at the airport?”
“Ah, no, I’m quite used to hitchhiking back home from the airport. I don’t even think most people know I’m back. I’ve been traveling for about a year now. Thanks for picking me up by the way.”
She shrugs and smiles kindly at me. “Don’t worry about it, we’re going that way anyway!”
I can’t help but smile back; I love hitchhiking. Often there is this quick connection that forms between the inhabitants of a car and the hitchhiker - me, in this case - solely based on heading in the same direction.
“We just dropped our son off, he’s going to Australia for a year.” Her expression saddens. Before I can react to it, she quickly flashes her smile again thought it doesn’t quite reach her eyes.
“But what about you, where did you just travel a year to? How was it?”
I want to tell them about all the adventures, but one year is a long time and I don’t quite know where to start. Eventually I settle on: “I hitchhiked through the US, spent six months in Costa Rica, and a few weeks in the Dominican Republic. It was great.”
Great doesn’t come close to how I had felt over the last year. There were so many events that had happened and each one of them had somehow affected me. I feel as if any single word would fall short on describing how last year was. I went through hardship and fulfillment, fear and happiness, and a whole range of other emotions. With each one of those emotions having a story to tell.
With a quick glance in the rear-view mirror, the husband replies: “I bet it was. I’ve been told Costa Rica is quite beautiful. A friend of ours went there about a year ago.”
The pleasant conversing goes on for the rest of the trip. I’m glad for it, as it successfully distracts me from going back home.
Eventually the moment arrives where the wife turns around once more, “Almost in Ghent now.”
READ #3 HERE: @martibis/when-the-road-calls-3
