Rubbing elbows with Danish folks

Rubbing elbows with Danish folks | Daily Tribune

(Author’s note. Rewritten from my book “Wings and Wanderlust”)

Hitchhiking north of Hamburg in Germany, destination Copenhagen, I picked up a ride from a stately Mercedes Benz. They were an elegant Danish couple and spoke perfect English. The lady was driving. She was “in charge.” The guy was silent. It was a lucky ride for me all the way to Copenhagen. I learned later that they owned a big food corporation.

(Dialogue reconstructed)

LADY: This is the first time I meet a hitchhiker with a bulky guitar.

ME: It’s a magic wand, ma’am. It attracts adventure.

LADY: I know. That’s why I picked you up. Where will you stay in Copenhagen, young man?

ME: I have a friend in Christiania, ma’am.

LADY: That’s a dangerous place, full of drugs. Stay at the Youth Hostel instead.

ME: No choice, ma’am. I will be all right.

LADY: Maybe you’re just saving money.

She spoke to her husband in Danish and he gave me 100 Danish crowns, so I would stay away from Christiania. That was about US$20 then. We reached Flensburg and crossed the border to Denmark. The car slid onto the car ferry. We went up for a sumptuous dinner in a nice restaurant on the upper deck of the boat.

LADY: Now, I want to hear you sing.

I played some Beatles songs. They seemed impressed and clapped loudly. The lady took out another 100 crowns and gave it to me. So much for my impromptu concert on the ferry.

I stayed anyway with Jansen and Maryjke in Christiania, ignoring the lady’s warning. I had met them in a camping ground in Algarve, Portugal. I always exchanged addresses with backpackers I met on the road. My black book had about 30 addresses of backpackers I met everywhere, with whom I could stay.

Going north during spring, I planned my travel route based, not on nice tourist places to see, but on addresses in my black book. It was a good strategy, mingling with the natives rather than tourists with a tour guide.

I learned more about the lives and culture of the natives. I did not need a bulky travel guidebook, and I saw the best places, as recommended by the natives. I also had a good taste of their home-cooked food.

I wanted so much to sing on the road again, like in Athens and Munich. I went bar-hopping with my guitar, hoping to get a job singing at night bars.

At the fifth bar, the manager asked me to play. I played a Simon and Garfunkel song, “El Condor Pass.” It happened to be his favorite. I was hired instantly for $25 a night, three times a week, on a trial basis.

And so, I played the first “professional’ gig of my life. The crowd was noisy. They were not even listening. I was drowned out by people talking to each other all at the same time.

I kept on playing. I felt ridiculous. After three nights, I gave up. I couldn’t do it anymore, playing to a crowd that was not even listening.

Hitchhiking back south to Amsterdam, I wrote, “Sometimes it is good to keep your windows open during a storm, as a nice leaf may drift in and make your day.”

(The luxury edition of the book, “Wings and Wanderlust,” is available at Amazon, but if you are in the Philippines, you can buy a cheaper old hard copy delivered to your home by courier. Email your request to redgate77@gmail.com)