Monday, January 16, 2012

Hitchhiking stories & fat punks not dead

Some photos I snapped when I visited friends in the H42 squat in Oslo, a few months before it got evicted.
That's how I rolled. I traveled a lot. Hitchhiking, backpacking, bus, trains, cross country biking, whatnot. I listened to a lot of punk. Still do. Not so much into hardcore though. More into crust. 

So well, I basically moved around from collective to collective, hitchhiked, spent my nights at unusual places on the road (various benches, under bridges, under the skies on random fields, in junkie parks, regular parks, under a van, tree houses, wendy houses, garden sheds, barns, roofes, along river banks, etc - with or without tents and sleeping bags) between a collective and another. 

Sometimes I traveled with a friend, sometimes I traveled with strangers. Still have nightmares about the Emmanuel guy. In short: I was 16. Met a guy named Emmanuel in Stuttgart at Be Part Fest (a punk festival). Some of my friends were hitchhiking to Barcelona and I wanted to go too, but hitchhiking 3 is kinda hard, so I was happy when we met Emmanuel. 

Flo and Hannes hitchhiked together and Emmanuel hitchhiked with me. Fail? Yes. He went nuts after a few days on the road. Started talking about God. He said something a la "dude, God gave me a vision", like multiple times when we were up in the freakin mountains, shit am. I was tired. Couldn't take it anymore. But it was so late and he had thrown his sleeping bag, passport, money, purse, canned food and whatnot in a river while still being in his "duuuude god gave me a mission" mode, so I couldn't just leave him. After all, I had the only sleeping bag and it was really damn fucking cold, because we were so far up. 

So I stayed with him and listened to all his bullshit until dawn. We slept in a park. People stared at us, like we sick or something. Like it was contagious. But I didn't care, just listened to punk rock and waited for the sun to rise, so I could get the hell away from him. 

I ran away when I saw the sun starting to come up. Didn't have any money because my purse was in the backpack he threw out, but I didn't care, I just wanted to get away. Jumped a train to Paris. Ended up sleeping in a park with junkies. They were nice though. Even offered me meth (or crack?). I mean, I suppose that was a nice thing, considering they were poor hobo junkies... But well, obviously I said no. Just wanted to listen to punk rock and get some sleep. 

Ok. That was the Emmanuel story. I actually met him in Denmark at Shittown punk fest later. He told me he jumped a train to Paris right after me and that he ended up in a mental institution in Paris because he had been walking around, screaming to God and making a scene at Arc de Triomphe. Meeting him again was very awkward.

Anyway, I was actually supposed to tell something about Norway. But now I can't remember what I was going to write. My memory span is made of fail.

Wait. Have I already scribbled the Emmanuel story down before? Shit I can't remember.

But here are the photos:

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