Which recounts how our intrepid travellers put away the thumbs enjoyed fine art and rode the iron horse southward without adventure
Taking all day we reach Spain via the coast road pitching up near Figueras where the land is dry but still overcast skies. Tonight we sleep under canvas although the parched earth doesn’t look like it has regular sprinkling - you never know! We stand by the sign to Barcelona only 143 kilometres away so anticipating a great night once we reach it. Eight, ten hours later, maybe 12 I’ve my thumb out still. We’ve tried all the usual hitchers tricks with no luck. One of us hiding pretending there’s only one of us, rolling ciggies in reverse psychology for non smoking drivers, going to sleep, one of us wandering off, both of us wandering off, . Nothing doing. Hardly any traffic to even get us excited. So my thumb is drooping but I catch the sound of... is it a lorry? Nah, Simon snoring. We’ve spent 5 days going less than 800 miles in France according to our basic map. About 150 a day. Hitching from 8 til 8 that’s just over 10 miles an hour. We should’ve brought the trusty bicycles!
Just inside the Spanish border...
... flaked out in the sun
As if by magic a youngish tho weather beaten dark guy in a beat up very small car stops and says he’s going into Figueras. Wrong way for us and we tell him how terrible hitching is here and he agrees - says you can get the train all through Spain for about a fiver so we decide it’s cheaper than food for 5 days trying to get through Spain take him up on his lift and then get the train to Barcelona where we have a few beers then sleep next to the cathedral in the centre of town along with the dossers we’re turning into. Next day we site see which we’ve done precious little of this trip and take in the big parks and the crazy Dali Musee d’Art Moderne. Catch a late afternoon train south and eating our bocadillos de queso swigging cheap wine we’re very happy and satisfied. As dusk descends we sit on the footplate of the last carriage swigging locally produced gin and watching the sun go down over the plain in Spain. Somehow we don’t fall off despite the jolting journey and when we wake we’re at Algeciras having covered as many miles in the last day as in the previous 5. A shame to miss most of Spain but it’ll be here for a while for us to visit and our goal is in sight across the Straits of Gibraltar.