sofasurfers

Hitchhiking in Russky Island

Hitchhikers and couchsurfers exist happily in the same Venn Diagram. There is also a massive young hitchhiking movement in Russia. When I explained to Stasia, my new St Petersburg friend here in Vladivostok and inveterate hitchhiker, that thumbing a lift in Britain is a long shot these days, on account of our fear of baddies, she replied, “Yes. Apparently only Poles and Slovaks pick up hitchhikers in Great Britain.” (I felt some amount of national shame.) Anyway, so there we were – Stasia, another Russian couchsurfer called Nikolai (who was from the Altai mountains and actually staying in a hotel in Vladivostok on a business trip, and who used couchsurfers to find instant friends on the ground) and I, on Russky Island, in the Sea of Japan off the coast of Vladivostok (bear with me here!)… somewhat stranded because we’d missed the bus. “Let’s hitch!” I venture, feeling like I could ride on the coattails of someone who knew what she was doing.

And so she did – while I futilely (that looks wrong) stuck my sore thumb skywards, Stasia calmly flagged down a car rather like a policeman would – palm held flat and vertical in the international sign language of “Stop”, and then raised up and down in the code of “Slow down – now!” We were quickly picked up by Alexei, someone who’d lived on Russky Island all his life and whose job was to cart sand around to construction sights. And no, he wasn’t a military man – he just liked a bit of camo. Why am I laughing so much? Because I’m in the midst of saying, “Please! Camera further away from me – please!”