1000 Days of Spring: Travelogue of a hitchhiker
Page 23
He laughed and browsed through a bunch of papers and my passport once again.
“No problem, could you wait in the lobby,” he finally asked, “and, please, take care of yourself.”
“Thank you a lot,” I said, relieved, “I will.”
I left the embassy and went to Iva’s office.
“Good news,” she was waiting for me at the door, “MasterCard agreed to sponsor your trip around the world. They agreed to all of your terms.”
“To all the terms?” I repeated.
“All of them,” she winked at me.
Unbelievable.
That was the moment I had been hoping for all those years. The moment I got a dream job: I’d travel around the world, enjoy, take photos, write about it and be paid for it very well. Extremely well, indeed. It was a well-paid job that, if I didn’t spend any of the sponsor money and respected the contract to the end, would give me the exact amount of money I needed to repay the five-figure debt that was constantly on my mind and which had been giving me nightmares for all those years.
It seemed surreal. I felt as if I was watching a bad Hollywood movie, or reading an equally bad book in which the protagonist, after finding himself in a desperate situation at the beginning and after facing numerous obstacles, finally gets what he wants, although he didn’t know what that was.
A happy ending which was, in fact, only the beginning.
The movie will definitely have a sequel.
“Hi, Mom,” I called her to communicate the good news, “the people from MasterCard agreed to be my sponsors.”
“Bravo,” she replied sadly. After all, it was the last day she’d be spending with her son for the following God-knows how many months.
“See, everything has turned out well,” I told her, reminding her of a hug I’d given her before going to Spain and of my promise that one day, everything would make more sense, “I’ll get paid enough money to repay all my debts.”
“If you stay here, your father and I will return all that money,” she said, “just don’t go.”
My heart stopped beating for a second. I knew she really meant it. I knew she was ready to do anything, even the most desperate measures, to stop her son from going away.
“I have to do it, Mom,” I barely managed to say, “you know I have to.”
She knew it. She knew me too well not to know it.
“See you tonight,” I said and hung up the phone.
“So, you’re really going away?” Nina asked me over a beer.
“So, I’m really going away,” I replied, slowly starting to realize that this was really it. I only had to say goodbye to my friends and family, spend the night at my brother’s place and my Journey could start.
“Everything all set up?” she gave me a look that reminded me of the one she’d given me before my first trip alone to Amsterdam: if it wasn’t for her, I probably wouldn’t have done it.
“All set up,” I replied, “Just...”
“Just?” she repeated.
“During all those months, ever since I got the idea of travelling the world, I’ve been looking for a mission. Some aim for the journey, a motto. And I’m not sure that I’ve managed to find it.”
“Why do you need a mission?” she wanted to know, “you travel for yourself, not for others.”
“You could say that,” I agreed. “I don’t know, I’d like to have some sort of a story. The closest I’ve come was the promotion of alternative travelling styles, hitchhiking, CouchSurfing, volunteering and stuff like that, proving to people that you could travel almost for free.
“And that isn’t enough?”
“I don’t know... I wanted something better, something more inspiring.”
“And what about your sheep?” she asked.
“What about her?” I was surprised. Maria Juana was the only thing in my backpack that didn’t have any practical use. She’d been with me on all of my journeys, from my first wanderings across Europe up until now. We made a good team.
“She could be your story,” she suggested, “take photos of her all around the world: she could represent your life path, she could tell your story. She ran away from her herd, with a smile on her face, looking for things that make her happy and what fulfils her. Just like you.”
So simple, practical and true.
We finished our beer and moved to the bar where I would have my goodbye party.
We had a few rounds of drinks, my parents, close family and a couple of my closest friends arrived, and also a few people I had never seen before. The atmosphere was high. I was celebrating a new beginning, not crying over the end of something.
Until the moment I feared the most.
“We’re going home,” Mom and Dad said, standing up. I followed them with heavy legs, the same as that day on the staircase in Berlin. I walked them to the entrance and stopped.
“Everything is going to be okay,” I put a smile on my face and hugged them. First my Dad.
He hugged me and started sobbing. The strongest man I knew was falling apart in my arms. I was falling apart, also. I stepped back, trying to hide the tears, and hugged my Mom. She was crying, too.
“Don’t worry, Mom,” I was sobbing, “trust me, one day, everything will make much more sense.”
I let her go out of my arms. They turned around without saying a word and left.
I stood there in silence, in tears and observed them as they were leaving. I used my right fist, the same one I was planning to use as my main means of transportation for the next couple of years, and hit the wall with it as hard as I could.
I sat on the stairs, where no one could see me, and put my head between the palms. I cried like never before.
What kind of fucking son was I? How could I do that to them? To the people who gave me my life, who were always there for me? I was paying them back by going on a trip around the world, hitchhiking. Wasn’t that the most selfish act a person could do?
“Bro, let’s go,” Filip told me and took me to his apartment before I managed to say goodbye to the remaining guests. During the whole ride I couldn’t stop sobbing on the back seat.
He prepared his couch, on which I was supposed to spend my last night in Zagreb.
I checked my e-mails.
Hey big guy,
Your dream. It’s finally coming true.
I’m sorry I haven’t made it to Zagreb. Or a few months earlier to Bangladesh, even though I wanted to see you more than anything. Trust me, I wanted it. But I couldn’t. Someday I’ll tell you why.
But a piece of you is always with me.
Somewhere within me there’s still a girl who was lying on the grass in that Berlin park, listening to a boy saying he loved her. And she’s lying when she says she doesn’t love him. And she did love him, and she still does, and she’ll always love him. Despite the fact that they’re always on the opposite side of the planet.
Think of me when you’re watching the sunrise, when your toes are touching the Pacific, when an elephant steals your hat. Enjoy your dream. Because it is yours.
Maybe one day, we’ll meet at my house, in a shabby hotel in India or somewhere in South America on a beach during the sunset. Whenever, it will happen. It has to.
Kiss,
Chloe
I wiped the tears off of my face with my palms and took a deep breath. I remembered the look she gave me when she was at my front door. The look I wanted to have for myself. The life I wanted to live. And which was now there, one night away.
I remembered quitting my job as a stockbroker, working in the juice bar, hosting CouchSurfers, first trips, a broken heart in Berlin, presentation about CS in Zagreb where I got the idea to create the Facebook page, wandering around Andalusia, organizing the hitchhiking race, appearing in the media, Bangladesh, meeting Tanja, finishing university, everything.
I knew that was it. That I was doing the right thing. That I had to follow my dream. That I didn’t have any other choice. That I couldn’t give up. That the
instinct should give the final punch in the face of fear.
Hey little one,
Just to let you know – my dream is you.
Forever yours, T.
I put down the laptop and fell asleep.
Day 100(1).
I was awake even before the alarm went off, at 6:04.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Born in Zagreb, Croatia, on April 6th, 1985.
The rest you can read in the book.
SPECIAL THANKS TO:
Everyone that has been a part of this story - family, friends, CS-ers, drivers, random people met on the street.
The crew that worked with me on this book.
Everyone that contributed to my crowdfunding campaign and made this book possible, especially:
Miss Krassi Hristova
Mrs Nancy Paiva
Mr Tito Bhuiyan
Mr Jefferey Dunn
Mr David Marshall
You, for reading this book.
Thank you, T.
* * *
[1] A neighborhood in Zagreb that is home to the zoo, and also the football stadium of Dinamo Zagreb.
[2] Dinamo Zagreb fans, known for trouble.
[3] famous Croatian writer, also known as Shale.
[4] Four big cities on the way.
[5] A kind of a traditional cheese pie.
[6] A kind of traditional dish of cabbage leaves rolled around a filling usually based on minced meat, popularintheBalkans.
[7] Croatian War of Independence (1991-1995), fought between Croats and Serbs.
[8] Croats and Serbs speak more or less the same language, just with different accents.
[9] Karst lakes near the city of Imotski.
[10] Traditional chocolate cake.
[11] A famous village in Croatia known for the bravery of its people during the war.
[12] A drink made of wine mixed with sparkling water.
[13] May I try?
[14] Of course.
[15] Good luck.
[16] 'Good morning, Croatia', a morning TV show.
[17] '24 hours', a Croatian daily newspaper group.
[18] Croatian national television.
[19] Thank you.
[20] Traditional flatbread.
[21] A traditional instrument.
[22] Bengali: ‘Tell the truth and follow the right path’.
[23] A pejorative term for someone from Dalmatia.
[24] Next station.