#4 | Cold nights – hitchhiking through the Pyrenees

France & Andorra, November 2023

I leave Taizé with Elisabeth on Wednesday, November 22nd. We take the bus to Macôn and stand on the street near a parking lot.

We are excited. Hitchhiking together for the first time. Grin, take photos and get a little bored. Things are getting off to a bit of a slow start.

We move to another location. Less than 10 minutes later we are sitting in Etienne's car. He admits that he saw us on the side of the road and thought to himself, we won't be able to get away from here so quickly. We are dropped off at a café near the motorway entrance towards Lyon with best wishes and just a few minutes later we can actually get in with a businessman who gives us a lift just before Lyon.

Truck driver Jeremy picks us up from a parking lot and drives us into the center of Lyon - a mistake, as we later discover, because it's difficult to hitchhike out of such big cities. The traffic is too dense and the number of drivers driving further distances is too low.

After the Securidad kindly sent us a few meters further, we were picked up by a young mother who drove us to a multi-lane road next to the Rhône. Although it is a particularly beautiful district of Lyon, we are slowly losing courage. The stopping options are not good, it is already shortly before 3 p.m. and we are still 4 - 5 hours away from Carcassonne, our destination for the day. We already have somewhere to sleep there. That morning I wrote to Taras, who lives in a hotel a few kilometers outside of Carcassonne, via Couchsurfing. When I write to him that we are still stuck in Lyon, he no longer believes he will see us today.

After three quarters of an hour of trying unsuccessfully on the multi-lane road, Elisabeth suggests we try our luck somewhere else. At first I'm reluctant to give up the position, as I suspect that the lift I've been waiting for will finally be behind every traffic light.

Ultimately, Elisabeth was able to convince me to take the public bus a little out of the city. We position ourselves at a smaller driveway and wait.

»Goodbye! Adiós! La revedere!« We are hugged again, then our current angels get back into their car and disappear into the darkness. The two Romanians were on their way from Lyon to Toulouse to buy a car and not only gave us a ride for 5 hours, but also dropped us off less than two minutes away from our Couchsurfer host.

Elisabeth and I look at each other and can hardly believe our luck. After only getting to Lyon with 4 cars, we have now made it to Carcassonne with just one!

And it gets even better: Taras, our host, puts us up in his mother's hotel, lovingly cooks us all kinds of delicacies and involves us in a philosophical debate about life decisions. It's about his fears, how he made a pilgrimage to a monastery and broke his back; his dreams, how he wants to travel but at the same time wants a house with a big garden somewhere in the country; about his spirituality, how he found his “spiritual teacher,” a person who comes into our lives when we are ready and who teaches us to let go and live; from Claudia, on whose farm he lived for two months, who is a kind of grandmother and friend to him.

Sometimes Taras is happy, there is a sparkle in his eyes when he talks about his plans. Then again there is sadness when it comes to setbacks. And conflict as he looks at his surroundings and remembers how he is always drawn back here, no matter how many times he tries to leave this place behind him. He seems broken to me, but at the same time full of ideas and confidence for the future. An ambivalent spirit that you probably rarely find. We are happy to have met him.

In the afternoon of the next day, after visiting the old town and castle of Carcassonne, we decide to hitchhike further towards Lourdes. The decision is not easy for us, as Taras had offered us to stay longer. However, we have already booked ourselves for the evening with Magali, the French woman I met in Ireland. She's going away for the weekend, so we have to get to her by tonight.

Taras looks after us sadly and at the same time friendly as we walk back down the street towards the motorway entrance. "Sometimes the most inconspicuous souls can have the kindest hearts."

A tree trimmer finally takes us a few kilometers towards Toulouse. In the parking lot where he drops us off, we start talking to a manager who is on his way to Lourdes - lucky again! He only speaks French, but with the help of Elisabeth's language skills we keep the conversation going for a while, in which he politely refers to us several times as "those crazy girls" and at the end gives Elisabeth his business card... just in case of emergency.

Magali picks us up from the highway exit. We sleep in her apartment in Tarbes, a slightly larger city near Lourdes, which we visit the next morning while Magali is at a career orientation meeting. In the afternoon she and her father take us to Lourdes, drive us through the town and finally drop us off in front of the entrance to the pilgrimage site - the famous Massabielle grotto, we are there.

It's slowly getting dark. We take a look into the church, the beauty of which takes my breath away. We then approach the grotto where a Spanish rosary is being prayed. We stand there, peaceful and calm by the monotonous chanting of the priests, the flickering candlelight and the sight of the small, famous grotto.

The source itself is hidden behind a glass plate, which disappointed us a little. Luckily, Magali gave us each a small bottle of cave water as a farewell gift, so we could still take a small talisman with us.

Long after the service is over, we sit there and quietly sing a few Taizé songs. A passing nun joins in briefly and makes us smile.

At some point it is completely dark. We don't have a place to sleep tonight yet. No idea where to put our tent. Nevertheless, we are both incredibly calm. A deep trust that we can always find something somewhere has spread within us.

And we are right.

At some point I start talking to a young man. Vishal comes from India and has been living in Lourdes for a few months. When he hears that we don't have any accommodation yet, he quickly offers us to sleep with him.

After we get a quick picture of him and we both feel confident, we say yes. Then he tells us that he owns a restaurant, which he opens for us again to heat up Indian food so that we can have something for dinner.

Gratitude doesn’t begin to describe how I feel.

We slowly walk through the dark streets of Lourdes, which is only populated by a few tourists at this time of year, to Vishal's apartment. On the way we pass a large hall from which loud roars and chants can be heard. We approach with interest and see through the window panes a basketball game between the clubs from Lourdes and Tarbes. A family event, it seems, because there are even babies among the spectators. Without further ado, we sit down, even though none of us really have anything to do with basketball, and let ourselves be carried away by the good atmosphere.

This made us late and we didn't reach Vishal's apartment until around 11 p.m. His Afghan roommate Abdul Manjeed comes out of his room curiously and cooks Afghan tea. The four of us sit in Vishal's room for a long time, drinking tea and talking.

When we say goodbye the next day, we remain on friendly terms with the boys and continue to ask about each other's well-being later on. Above all, Vishal's message "Dinner finished?" comes reliably every evening - you could set your watch by it! :)

After Lourdes we finally want to go to the mountains, which Magali described on the way there as “the most beautiful in the world”.

Shortly before a roundabout we are given a lift by Greg, who doesn't actually have to go in our direction, but he used to hitchhike a lot himself ("I can recommend Senegal to you. Africa has its very own hitchhiking culture!") and just way too much Have time. He drops us off in Argelés-Gazost, where we fortify ourselves with a crepe and a short time later are picked up by Greg (again!) and Fannie, two French tourists who also want to go to the mountain town of Cauterets.

As is often the case, there isn't much going on. The summer season is over, the winter season has not yet begun. We are enjoying this shoulder season, as there are not crowds of people on the streets and in the shops everywhere.

From Cauterets we start hiking into the mountains. There are numerous small refuges in the Pyrenees where you can stay overnight for free - but they are very spartan. We see how spartan a few hours later when we stand in front of an old stable shortly before dark.

“Is that it?” we ask each other, a little incredulously. A stone house could be seen in the pictures. This is actually next to the stable, but it is locked. We enter.

The so-called stable is actually an old wooden shed with windows but no panes. The ground is dirty and covered with barrels and garbage. There are some old foam mattresses on a lying surface at shoulder height.

At least something.

To be on the safe side, we put the groundsheet from the tent over it, preferring not to know how long these mattresses have been here.

The refuge is a few meters above the snow line, it is bitterly cold and gets dark quickly. Whatever clothing we have is put on.

Then we quickly cook something for dinner (delicious rice with packet soup - for the taste) and snuggle up in our sleeping bags.

When Elisabeth goes outside again a little later, the sky has cleared, revealing the full moon and the surrounding snow-covered peaks. We stand, completely alone, far from civilization, in the middle of the mountains, and fall into each other's arms. The situation is unreal peaceful and so beautiful that I can't get enough of it. Only we. The stable. The night. The snow. And the mountains.

The next day we quickly pack up and hike back down to Cauterets. We're still sitting on the side of the road, painting on our hitchhiking sign, when Simón, a ski and climbing instructor who wants to go paragliding nearby, is already pulling up. He takes us to Pierrefit and lets us out at a roundabout. From there we want to hitchhike to Andorra via La Morje and other small mountain towns. Again we don't know where we will be in the evening. It's scary and exciting at the same time. Everything is possible.

A Spanish man stops and advises us not to go to La Morje. The pass roads to Andorra are covered in snow and there is no way through. We should go back to Lourdes and try the highways.

We thank you and want to change the roundabout exit when the next car already stops. “Do you want to go to Lourdes?” calls Marvín. We nod and get in. He's going to Tarbes and even knows Simón, who we just went with.

In Lourdes we lose a lot of time because Marvín lets us out at the wrong place due to communication problems. After a half-hour hike, we finally stand at the right exit and stick out our thumbs.

“Bagnéres?” We were just talking about the fact that older women in particular never pick up hitchhikers when, right on cue, Evelina stuck her head out of the car window. The woman, who is around 50 or 60 years old, takes us along for a ride, talks about her work with cognitively impaired children and speaks Spanish to me and French to Elisabeth. This creates quite a lively conversation. Otherwise Elisabeth actually always speaks, as most French people can't or don't want to speak English well enough.

I'm just about to tell Evelina about our little adventures across France when she drops us off in the city center of Bagnéres-de-Bigorre, a small French community, beams at us again sincerely, wishes us luck and roars of it again. Even though we only drove with her for a few minutes, she will remain in our memories for a long time.

We update our tramp sign with the next stage – Lannemezan – and stand back on the road. It's cute to see some people shaking their heads apologetically, almost as if it's their fault for not wanting to go our way. It will be the last time we hitchhike together on this tour, but we don't know that at this moment.

Instead, we look uncomfortably at the sky. It's already getting dark again and we're still hours away from Andorra. We actually wanted to get to the Spanish border today so that we could maybe hike through a valley to Andorra the next day. Nothing will probably come of this.

Laurent stops. Another one of those people who must have come straight out of a book. A children's book in which there are only heroes.

“I’m going to Lannemezan,” he tells us. »But first I'll stop at the Château de Mauvezin to film the sunset. If that’s okay with you, get in!”

I hesitate. If he's filming the sunset, it will be pitch black by the time we reach Lannemezan. Then we can forget about hitchhiking. Shouldn't we wait for another car? But Elisabeth immediately gained confidence and convinced me - again fortunately, as I later realized.

After exploring the castle and Laurent completing his drone flights, we set course for Lannemezan.

“It’s getting dark,” Laurent notes. We told him about our plans and sleeping arrangements. »If you want, you can set up your tent in our garden.«

The prospect of a safe place to sleep makes us agree immediately. Half an hour later we find ourselves in a fun adult shared apartment. We put up the tent and end up sleeping on the sofa because the residents don't want to put us through the cold outside.

Laurent shows us some of his photos. He is a postal worker, a passionate amateur photographer, and is constantly looking for picturesque landscapes and the right light.

During the course of the evening I talk to Ugo, who teaches at a middle school in Lannemezan. When I tell him about my travel plans, his eyes widen.

“Across the Atlantic by sailboat?” I expect a “That’s crazy” or “You’re brave”, the usual reactions. Instead he continues: "I have a friend who has a sailboat and he wants to cross the Atlantic too!"

I can hardly believe my ears. “This year?” I ask.

Ugo nods.

A few minutes later I have the contact details of a real sailor and a little later an answer. Unfortunately, Valentin writes, he doesn't have room for another person on the boat, but he's happy to support me in my search. He also advises me against Gibraltar - I should try Lisbon and Cascais instead, he is currently in Cascais and could take me to the Canary Islands if necessary, where the chances are even better. We arrange to meet loosely in Cascais. I have to go to Lisbon anyway because my hiking poles have now arrived in Taizé. I had asked Francisco, who was visiting his family in Portugal in December, to take her with him for me.

What would I have missed if I hadn't gotten in!

And it gets even better. The next morning Laurent tells us that he wants to drive us to Andorra. We want to decline - after all, it's at least a 4-hour drive! - but Laurent insists, looking forward to finding some new film spots and wanting to stop at another château along the way. We agree and so the three of us sit in the car in the afternoon, sing loudly to the music, film an old castle ruin that stands alone somewhere in the Pyrenees and cross the snow-covered pass to Andorra.

In the border town of Pas de la Casa there are almost only cigarette and liquor stores, Laurent tells us. Andorra is considered a tax haven for drug users; some people only come here to stock up and then turn back.

We follow the main road that runs through Andorra from north to south. On the way we pass through a handful of smaller towns whose houses are made of stone and dark wood.

“You,” I lean towards Elisabeth. "Do you feel so... trapped?" I can't think of a better word to describe my discomfort.

Elizabeth nods. “It’s all somehow depressing,” she agrees.

The knot in our stomach loosens a little when we reach Andorra La Vella, the capital of the principality. But until we leave, I can't help but feel a certain amount of trepidation. The cities of Andorra in particular seem as if they had been torn from an industrial district and simply relocated to the mountains. You won't find playful balconies and cozy wooden roofs like in the Alps here. Instead, a strange kind of wealth and pomp is displayed that somehow doesn't fit here.

We stay with Ada, a young woman I found through Couchsurfing. She grew up in Andorra but has traveled extensively in recent years and plans to do so again once she has earned enough money from her speech therapy job at the hospital and teaching Catalan online.

We want to go back to the mountains, spend a night in the Refugi dels Estanys, and take a bit of nature with us. But when we want to leave on Tuesday morning, Elisabeth suddenly feels very bad. She decides to stay in the valley while I reschedule at short notice and find a nice day route to the Refugi de Prat Primer.

The solitude of winter hiking is incredibly calming - I don't meet a soul for four hours, only on the descent do I meet a walker with a dog somewhere in the forest. The hut, for its part, is in a fantastic location and compensates for all the hardships I had to endure - after all, I was still carrying a backpack for the overnight stay in the hut! - took it upon myself.

The best feeling for hikers.

Luckily, Elisabeth feels better the next day and we go on a nice hike to Llac d’Engolasters, a mountain lake that is already covered with a thin layer of ice at this time of year. On the way there we cross a children's hiking adventure trail, the tamarro. Ada later tells us that tourists like to be fooled by saying that the tamarro is a very special species that is only native to Andorra. Every sound is then incorrectly assigned to the tamarro.

In the evening we accompany Ada to her judo training and get to know a number of nice and funny Andorrans. Dani, the sensei, sometimes stops by me and asks me for one or two translations. Then he keeps running and instead of “Venga! Venga!” you can now hear “Weiter! Weiter!"

After the training, the group invited us to a bar for a beer and tapas. I've never been so exhausted, but the evening is so much fun - we learn some dirty toasts in Catalan and teach the German rules of "toasting" - that we don't head home until shortly after midnight. Juan and Ada show us the government buildings and tell us about some Catalan customs, then we sit in our room and pack up our stuff until late into the night.

On Thursday November 30th we leave Andorra and the Pyrenees. Coincidentally, Ada has an appointment in Barcelona today and is taking us with her. We are always incredibly lucky!

In the center of Barcelona we are exposed - from 8 degrees to 21 degrees - and initially stand around in a bit of a loss. A tourist couple speaks to us, tells us the way to the tourist information center and gives us their tickets.

A Catalan singing talent show is being recorded in Plaza Catalunya and we listen to it for a while. Then we walk down the famous La Rambla and drop off our things with Josh, my Couchsurfer host for Barcelona. The day finally ends after an extensive sightseeing tour of Barcelona's most famous sights in a tapas bar that Josh recommended to us. We celebrate this last evening together again extensively and test our way through the menu, then we get Elisabeth's things and make our way to the bus station.

Saying goodbye is difficult, we have experienced so much together in the last few weeks, learned so many good things, made so many acquaintances. We don't yet know when and where we will see each other again, but we want to stay in touch. I wave again, both happy and sad at the same time, then the coach disappears into the throng of traffic in the big city.

And suddenly... suddenly I'm on my own again.