THE BIG KISS OFF
In 1963 it was OK to hitchhike. I was one of many young people exploring Europe this way. I was working as a governess at a school in a village near Villingen in Germany’s Black Forest. They paid me a small retainer, and I had weekends and holidays free to “see the world”. With little money, I decided to hitchhike and stay in youth hostels. I travelled on my own mostly; sometimes with fellow hitchhikers I’d met in youth hostels. I loved meeting people. The drivers were usually interested in South Africa and I, in turn, learnt much about Germany, Belgium, Denmark and Sweden.
After a stay in Munich I was en route to my school, waiting for a ride. A small car with an Hungarian number plate pulled up. It was fully packed with what appeared to be the mast of a sailing boat across the passenger door. The young man gestured that I would need to climb over the driver’s seat to get in and out of the car. This was not ideal, but as he was heading for a town near Villingen, it was too good a lift to miss!
HUNGARY EYES
We exchanged first names. Ivan spoke very little German, but soon we were chatting amiably. He was leaving Hungary for a new life in Germany. He was nice looking; in fact a nice guy, who shared with me the rye and paprika brötchen his mother had made for him that morning.
We were a short distance from the crossroads where I would get off, when he suddenly took a side road into a wood. Turning to me, he said in broken German, “At least I am entitled to a kiss.”
My mind raced.
Felicia Fourie remembers a driver who gave new meaning to the term, ‘paying lip service’
WOOD YOU?
Subduing my panic, I said in the simplest words and with dramatic gestures, “I like you, but I don’t want to kiss you now. Why don’t you visit me and we can get to know one another? Come on Sunday!” And he agreed! Dutifully I wrote down my first name, a fabricated surname, and an invented address. Ivan reversed the car and, smiling, drove to the crossroads where I waved him “Auf Wiedersehen until Sunday.”
In that year I became a veteran hitchhiker, riding with my thumb, as the saying goes in Afrikaans. Hitchhiking, I encountered truck drivers, butchers, families, soldiers, students with heated opinions about apartheid, mothers who urged me to be wary, and businessmen who told me of places to visit.
Ivan was the only one who tried to kiss me.
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L“The Notebook” is about chance meetings and unforgettable encounters people have had on their travels. Send us your story — no more than 400 words — and, if published, you’ll receive R500. Mail travelmag@sundaytimes.co.za with the word Notebook in the subject line.