Though an English teacher based here in Madrid, I still like to consider myself a traveller at heart. This city in the middle with its six divergent motorways is the perfect place from which to launch off on to the great stretched ox-hide peninsula in search of all the uncertainty, surprise and escape the road promises. In this spirit of abandon (and considering a frankly poor financial position) I recently agreed with a friend of mine to forgo the normal bus ticket business and try to hitchhike out to Lisbon. I’d had a little thumbing experience the previous summer in England, but I wasn’t sure how it was going to be received in Spain. Nevertheless ‘autostop’ was a word in the Spanish lexicon, and it was a method of travel I truly believed in—what better way to go through a place than with the people who lived there? And what wonderful opportunities for interesting encounters and even friendships it offered.

Give us a lift!
Our journey started on a glorious, clear Friday morning. After a little metro ride out of town, coffees and cigarettes, we installed ourselves on a strip of pavement at a roundabout in Alcorcón, just where the A5 swings out of Madrid and south west. Our sign read Badajoz, and, just below that, in an admittedly ambitious marker pen scrawl, Lisbon. I stuck my thumb out proudly and proceeded to engage the eyes of every single approaching driver while my travelling companion Laura bounced with nervous energy, singing to keep our spirits up. It quickly became clear from the multitude of grins, waves and apologetic shoulder shrugs that we weren’t going to have too much trouble here: recognition is the first part of the battle.
Sure enough, after a meagre 20-minute wait we were off and speeding across the plains of Toledo with Manuel, an unassuming Extremeño, who was heading back to his pueblo after a week manning his oil business in the city. Laura and I couldn’t stop grinning as we gabbled away to him on the leather seats of his BMW, the excitement of our first ride producing a hitherto unknown fluency of Spanish. If the hitchhiker has any responsibility, it is to talk—to engage, amaze or at least keep one’s ride from falling asleep. And this we did, all day, bringing our pot ‘n’ pan backpack existence into the expensive cars of a succession of moneyed businessmen. Men whose reticence, after you got to know them, often gave way to a flicker of madness and a little hiking tale from their past.

Lap of luxury
Later that night, from our victory seat at a little flat in north Lisbon, we would perhaps over-analyse this thumbing trend of hitching rides with former Spanish hippies trying to reconnect with the past. As a hitchhiker I find myself desperate to make these groupings, to understand that immutable law that makes some cars pull up and others carry on past you. But those were the people who generally picked us up on our four-ride, 11-hour trip to the Portuguese capital. So much so that when the glint of a Mercedes emblem or a tinted window was spotted from afar, we experienced a surge of hope and a cry of “Luxury car! Luxury car!”.
We waited at roundabouts and service station exits, even under the ridiculous shadow of an elevated, giant plastic tomato outside a factory in Miajadas, Extremadura. But we never waited long—the maximum was about an hour and a half, under sleazy street lights on the edge of Mérida. Darkness is the hitchhikers’ only major enemy, bringing the suspicion of figures lurking on the road and depriving you of that all-important eye-contact with drivers which secures the deal. Despite that, persistence (and a lot more singing) won out this time and salvation eventually arrived in the shape of Paco and his dirty, doggy-smelling car.
He was the one who bucked the rich guy trend, telling us all about his land and his farmstead, nodding conspiratorially as he explained the various ways he had escaped bureaucratic building laws, and peppering his speech with exclamations of “¡chaval!” with his gruff Extremeño delivery. At once we had an ally and friend, and he took us way past his home right up to the border service station. From there, after well-earned beers and potatoes, it was into Portugal with Paulo, a sound engineering executive based in Madrid. Putting us on to the train into Lisbon, he offered to drive us the entire way back that coming Monday. Eager to have a relaxing holiday and not be fretting about the return trip and making it back in time for Tuesday classes, that was an offer difficult to refuse.
The Portuguese capital spread out invitingly as we crossed the Tajo on the last regional train into town, clutching our first ticket of the day. Despite the gloomy weather, ill-lit streets and chipped buildings (for while romantic, this city is a markedly poor one), everything seemed possible for the moment. We spent the weekend skipping the tumbling streets of Alfama, the old Moorish district, dancing to Cuban salsa in the sliver-thin bars of the Barrio Alto and telling new friends all about our exploits.

Further adventures
Since that Lisbon adventure I’ve had my thumb out on another couple of occasions, most notably for a trip north and west to the Sierra De Candelario in Salamanca. This one featured a three-man hitching team, plus tents and walking gear. Many doubted our idealism; some thought we were crazy. Friends told us we wouldn’t get out of Madrid, that no one would want to pick up three scruffy lads with huge backpacks, messy beards and bent roll-ups hanging out of their mouths. The novice hiker is certainly susceptible to this kind of negativity, and it can easily get you down when you get out there on the roadside. To confound our problems, an overly exuberant drinking session the night before meant we didn’t get going until three or four the following afternoon. Daylight was quickly running out.
Despite all this we found a spot at a little roundabout in Moncloa, stamped out those cigarettes and positioned one particularly scary-looking friend a good way back from the road. The rides arrived just as before, doors were flung open and the stories started. Ironically, and in the truly unpredictable spirit of the business, we were only waiting for about five minutes for that first lift; an Iberian record for me. Could legendary American thumbing icon Jack Kerouac ever have had such success? Yes, there was a smattering of businessmen again, but also this time it was anxious parents who seemed drawn to us, people who wanted to cram us into their little Volkswagens and who wouldn’t let us go until they knew exactly what our plans were, where we intended to stay and how safe it would be—questions we didn’t have answers to, but managed to evade. I suppose we must have looked like little lost boys to those protective pueblo mothers.

Thumbs up!
Writing in his 1851 book Wanderings in Spain, Frenchman Theophile Gautier asked: “What charm can anyone find in an excursion when he is always sure of reaching his destination, of having horses ready waiting for him, a soft bed, an excellent supper, and all the eases and comfort he can enjoy in his own home?”. We “autostopistas” certainly don’t rely on any of these things. Let alone the horses, in this day and age. But the experience of this way of getting around is a hugely rewarding one. It turns the journey from an annoying stage to be got through, into a space to meet people, learn things and get in touch with a country.

Do…
1 Take a road map so you know where you are, where you’re going and where you want people to drop you off
2 Make an early start if you’re planning on going far
3 Stand at a safe spot where cars can easily pull up
4 Look sharp ‘n’ smart. I find a good bright rain jacket does the trick
5 Make a nice clear, relevant sign (depending on the place, a sign reading “North” or “East” might be just as useful as one with a particular place name)
6l Make eye-contact with drivers as they approach, and give ’em a smile!
7 Ask drivers where they’re going when they stop. If you have a bad feeling about someone, don’t be afraid to refuse a ride. You can always say “I’m not going that way”.
8 Have lots of patience, and songs to sing as you wait.

Don,t
1 Expect to get there on time. Throw that defined itinerary out of the window and enjoy the ride!
2 Take it personally when people don’t stop, or jeer at you, or make a thumbs-down sign as they speed off in their boy-racer souped-up Renaults
3 Expect to make such quick progress in the dark. Hitching without light is difficult
4 Try to get out of Béjar (Salamanca province) on a rainy Saturday night. It can’t be done, I tell you…

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