Thou shouldst not attempt hitchhiking from Metz, France. I slept two nights there. One in a glade of wood on the shoulder of the Autoroute. The other under a bridge next to a pizza villa. I ate forest fare and stale bread and asked hitching advice from the police who spake english naught.
When I didst finally arrive at Le Tanneries in Dijon and I took off my jacket, I didst discover a cockroach I had crushed in my sleep the night before.
My first ride, from Liége to Luxembourg was with a classical violinist who practices her instrument for 8 hours a day. She says that her conductor will tell her if her 3rd harmonic is weak.
My ride from Luxembourg to Metz was with a German family who lives 6 months of their year in Florida, the other 6 traveling. They were incorrigibly rich but supported the plight of tree dwellers.
My first ride from Metz to... Metz was with a rasta from Metz who drove me to the place I had just walked 2 hours from in search of a better place to plant my weary feet and hold a sign. Communications had apparently failed.
My second ride from Metz to... Metz was a 5 minute jaunt with a woman who decided to plant me in a more favorible position, where I didst wait for hours before an unemployed man going to an employment office in Nancy picked me up.
In Nancy, I found a ride with a father and daughter who fed me chocolate and gave my life meaning again, though we could speak for naught for failure of language.
Thank you, Metz, for teaching me how to say "bitch" in French from the teenagers driving by and throwing trash at me. And, thank you Metz for reminding me that life is good because I got away.
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