Oooh, about time
This is close enough for me to be able to tell a PROPER story. One I haven't fabricated in any way. One which goes on for fookin' ages. Wait! Come back! It might be fun anyway...

Last year Ms Foxtrot came up with the idea of hitchhiking to Morocco. Yes, Morocco. No, I don't live in Egypt, I live in Norwich, and she wants to HITCHHIKE from NORWICH to AFRICA. But it was OK, it was for charity, they sent us T-shirts to wear, we had to text them our whereabouts each evening - we would surely be protected from the slightest possibility of rape, death or both, not necessarily in that order!

Obviously we did both survive, there's not much dramatic tension to be milked from a tale when I'm narrating it a year after it began. Norwich to Marrakech took us 8 days including two ferry trips, an overnight train from Tangier, a coach for the final leg from Sevilla to Algericiras after having the shit scared out of us the previous day (details to follow) and 25 lifts from people of various nationalities. These are the highlights.

The morning we departed, I took it upon myself to text Radio 1 to tell them what we'd gotten ourselves into. Chappers and Dave translated my text, live on air, as "Good luck to Darth & Ms Foxtrot, hitchhiking to Morocco - they've made it as far as Norwich! Ha ha fucking ha" (not actually said). An hour later, during our first lift, I texted them again and they were good enough to read out my thank you to our driver, Anna. She looked fucking mortified. I assume her husband thought she was waiting for him in bed, rather than driving home from her toyboy's place.

One very nice French chap insisted on buying us a slice of pizza when he stopped for lunch. He was very enthusiastic about Ms Foxtrot eating faster, and I had to explain, in flawless (ha!) Gallic, that she was a slow eater, and her reluctance had nowt to do with having recently sunk her vegetarian teeth into a small piece of jambon.

After finding ourselves stranded along an autoroute as the night closed in, we pitched our tent in a truck stop near Tours in the hope of hitching as far south as Bordeaux, or maybe even Spain, the next morning. After a fruitless hour a lady approached us and said we could go to Bordeaux with her and her husband in their lorry. But, and this is a hell of a catch, there was no room in the cab so we'd have to ride in the back of the lorry. With their potatoes. Now I know what you're thinking, what kind of idiot would agree to such a proposal?

Well, I would. They offered us coffee and a sandwich and somehow, despite them being Portuguese and not speaking French or English, we managed to have a conversation. I only know the Portuguese for "Oily Cunt" (Cristiano Ronaldo) and thought it was best to steer clear of this, but the nice gentleman managed to infer that due to Ms Foxtrot's blonde hair, when we got to Morocco I'd be able to trade her for as many as four camels.

We passed the next three hours in the back of a locked lorry, swearing not to tell our parents, consoling ourselves with the knowledge that we wouldn't go hungry (honestly, you've never seen so many potatoes) and that as the sides of the lorry were tarpaulin we could always cut our way out. Then the engine stopped, we heard footsteps, the doors were unlocked, and they very pleasantly wished us the best of luck with the rest of our journey.

Spain passed mostly without incident until we got to Toledo. We went two hours with no luck getting a hitch, aiming for Cuidad Real, until Juan pulled over. Juan was going to Sevilla, which is about twice as far in the right direction. This was excellent news. I sat in the front with Juan, despite my complete lack of Spanish. He kept flicking his gaze in my direction. This made me nervous. He said he was travelling from Madrid, where he worked (although he was very vague about the nature of his job) to Sevilla, where he lived. This also made us nervous, it's a hell of a commute. He drove at approximately 3 million kph and treated the white lines in the road as decoration.

By the time we got to the outskirts (read: really rough part) of Sevilla, and he hopped out to "see a friend about something", we were bricking it.

Then he took us to the centre of Sevilla and wished us the best of luck. Turns out he'd been looking at the wing mirror next to me because he didn't have a rear view in his car. And this is the key lessons learned, really; people really can be incredibly kind to complete strangers. It's something we forget all too easily in the modern world, the human capacity for good. 25 different people stopped and picked up two randoms with rucksacks and linguistic difficulties. We saw the Pyrenees from the cab of a lorry, we got to take in Zaragoza, Sevilla and Toledo, all of which are stunningly beautiful, we got fed several times and we got to travel through three different countries for free on the kindness of strangers. Some people even picked us up just to take us a mile or two down the road because where we were waiting was a crap spot for hitching. So next time you think it's a harsh world full of bastards, try hitchhiking to Marrakech. It'll open your eyes, not your anus.

No apologies for length. I could talk about it for days.
(Darth Foxtrot A one-man army dedicated to making fetch happen, Thu 22 Apr 2010, 14:58, 11 replies)

Sounds great fun
I generally always stop for hitch-hikers, if they are at least walking in the direction they want to go. They have to make a bit of an effort!

You meet some interesting people that way, and I usually feel quite good when they express how grateful they are.

Why not write a blog or something of your exploits?
(Kliper Filllets Getting noticed by twats on the internet since, Thu 22 Apr 2010, 15:05, closed)

"I could talk about it for days." And I bet you do.
Click though.
(porkylips looks better as the sun goes down., Thu 22 Apr 2010, 15:09, closed)

Yeah
If I ever make it to a B3ta bash, it's unwise to ask me to tell you a story about hitchhiking, Morocco, potatoes, crazy Spaniards, photography (I wrote a review of a camera we took with us for my work), ferries, stunning views of mountains or camping in a truck stop
(Darth Foxtrot A one-man army dedicated to making fetch happen, Thu 22 Apr 2010, 15:34, closed)

Get on to Chortleberry.Com
Post your pics. It could do with some activity.
(Kliper Filllets Getting noticed by twats on the internet since, Thu 22 Apr 2010, 15:46, closed)

Ain't people lovely.

( girlinthehole, Thu 22 Apr 2010, 15:27, closed)

I'm best mates with 'Chappers and Dave ' from Radio 1.

( Monty Boyce, My cheese game is strong, Sat 24 Apr 2010, 2:12, closed)

So
you're the Monty they're always laughing about.
Some of the tales those guys tell ...!
( Larry Vest One day at a time, sweet Jesus, FFS., Sat 24 Apr 2010, 13:09, closed)

So...
How many camels did you end up getting?
(speedevil, Sat 24 Apr 2010, 10:02, closed)

That'll be frontpage. Good stuff.
How about a full account of the return trip?
( Larry Vest One day at a time, sweet Jesus, FFS., Sat 24 Apr 2010, 13:07, closed)

The return trip is much less impressive. I shall recount it below.
Haggled for a taxi in Marrakech. Got to airport. Got on plane. Took off. Landed. Train from London to Norwich. Pub. The end.

Apologies for length
(Darth Foxtrot A one-man army dedicated to making fetch happen, Wed 28 Apr 2010, 14:47, closed)

Fantastic story
sounds like a great journey. Click for the potato truck part
( Amberl was stripey and dominated Europe, Wed 28 Apr 2010, 14:54, closed)