Nesfe Jahan, pt 10

Today, on the road to somewhere on Lake Ochrid, FYROM.

3 days ago, trying to hitch Tivat to Bigovo, Montengro. A native picks me up. We have no shared language. Once in the car, I feel  my pants, and realize I can’t feel my wallet. I cry “STOP!”. He nods sagely, and calmly continues on his way. I shout “STOP!!!!”. I shout “Arrete, merde”. I shout another 10 things that all come down to the same basic things. He notices my panic, and stops the car. I get up, and realize my wallet has shifted in my pants, and became wedged between my ass and the seat. I pantomime my brain, my wallet, back there (“benzjinika”) and thums up (ok, “dobra”). I’m trying to say it’s ok, everything fine. He nods, sagely, and starts to drive back to the gas station. I slap my forehead, and try to at least pretend he’s helping me out. As soon as we arrive, I run into the toilet, I pull out my cellphone from the pocket of my pants. I run back to the car, smiling big, pretending that was what I forgot. He’s very happy to have done me this favor.

The great things about hitchhiking, it that the assholes never take you. (or almost never).