Le Sunhitcher sur les routes sans argent

Dedicated to Us. Impossible takes a little bit longer.

THE SUNHITCHER ON THE ROAD WITHOUT MONEY Written by Tomi Astikainen Proof read by Julien Boyer Logo on the cover page by Petteri Laakkonen Originally published in Berlin on 17.1.2012 License: Creative Commons BY-NC 3.0 Graphics, design and layout by 2globalnomads.info Graphics, design and layout are Public Domain www.tomiastikainen.com

Ingredients

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Recipe for a Travel Book

• 2 previous books (home-made) • 3 useless diplomas • 1 liter of olive oil (alternatively diesel) • 250 liters of actual events • A map of Europe (alternatively World Atlas) • 5 critical facts about society • 17 big fat lies • 198 fake names • 385 bottles of beer • 29 bottles of hard liquor • 1 pan • 1 small pot • 1 big pot • 28 grams of pot • 1-300 spoonfuls of iction • A pinch of plot • 5-200,000 euros • 1 thumb • A Swiss knife • 1-2 backpacks • A towel • 30 markers (fat-tip) • 1 onion

Cooking instructions

▶ Preparation time: 28 years ▶ Cooking time: 18 months

Carefully separate notes from the coins. Pour away the coins. Take all the notes and use them to light the ire. Print out the 3 books you have prepared earlier and use them to keep up the ire. Heat up the olive oil (or diesel oil) in the pan. Add the diplomas and keep stirring until burned. hrow them away. Open the map of Europe and place the thumb on the map at random. Go there by carefully extending the thumb in an upwards position.

At this point it is still important to keep the thumb fresh, so don’t cut it yet. Collect the actual events and keep adding them in the small pot. Use markers sparingly. Take the pot and add it to the pot while stirring regularly with the map of Europe (or World Atlas). Don’t panic. Spoon away the uninteresting broth. Always bring a towel.

Open the beer bottles one by one. Don’t let them breathe too long. Move the boiled events from small pot to big pot. Smoke some more pot. Add water to taste. Keep adding the fake names and big fat lies one by one. Stir them well with the facts. Spice up with iction. If too mild, add hard liquor. Add the plot. Be careful not to make it too concise. Keep stirring.

he book is ready when most of the liquid is vaporized. Use the Swiss knife to cut of the thumb to pre- vent over-adding actual events. Serve for free, fresh from the backpack. Peeling the onion guarantees tears.

PART 1: SPRING

The answer is to educate people for functions more cerebral than fucking, smoking dope, watching TV, or the idiot jobs most are currently toiling at. Robert Anton Wilson

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Changing the Planet!

What the hell? A truck driver listening to Painkiller? Judas Priest was blasting from a red Scania truck idling at the Latvian-Lithuanian border. he driver’s name, Jakub, was in the windshield.

“Are you coming or not?” a 40-year-old semi- obese Polish guy had a resounding American accent. He was about to start towards Lithuania, and probably beyond.

Truck drivers are hitchhikers’ best friends. hey don’t give a shit even if you look like shit. I did. he zipper in my shorts was broken and my loose-buttoned blue collar shirt was covered in sweat. I usually had Do-It-Yourself earrings—a screw pierced through my let ear and an alu- minum ring on the right. I took them of while hitching1, not to look so much like a terrorist. hey say that my blissful half-closed eyelids, sharp facial features and a wide grin on my face give an impression of a cross-breed between a Buddha, a falcon and a rattlesnake.

“Um, could you maybe turn it down a bit? Terrible hangover,” I explained in English and climbed in with my small rucksack, water bottle and hitchhiking sign. Fuck, if only I had a painkiller. Last night I had failed in hitching completely and ended up drinking excessive amounts of Riga Balsam and playing Mortal Kombat with some Latvian teenagers.

“Hi, Remmus Reverof,” I introduced myself. “Reverof? From Russia?” Jakub asked. “No, Finland,” I corrected. he name came from my great grandpa. “Oh, Finland! Great country!” Jakub complimented and took a sip of his cofee. Everyone kept saying the same about Finland, whether they had been there or not—most oten not.

According to a recent Newsweek study, it was the best country in the world. “Being born in Finland was like winning in lottery,” my parents’ generation used to say. I had never been able to put my inger on what they actually meant.

In Finland every newborn baby is entitled to a maternity package—diapers, clothes and that kind of stuf— worth of 274 Euro. his is recognized as proof of a well-functioning social system. But at the same time the babies inherit a share of the public debt—some 15 000 Euro, growing by the minute. hey are expected to pay this money indirectly over the years in form of taxes, pensions and other side costs of work, once they have been squeezed through the world-acclaimed Finnish education system to become obedient worker gnomes.

“Well, it’s just a name for a geographical location, really,” I downplayed Jakub’s compliment. “What, you don’t like Finland?” “Of course I value some sides of it, like people’s honesty, clean nature and a certain degree of freedom,”

I replied. In fact, Finland was a country where I could do whatever the hell I wanted; run butt naked into a lake illed with clean fresh water or get drunk and piss on the stairs of the parliament. his was the real land of the free and the home of the... well... Santa Claus, I guess.

“here’s also Nokia, Linux, and a gazillion computer programmers,” Jakub added. “Um, yeah. True. How do you know that?” I was bemused. “I used to be one. More of a hobby, really,” Jakub explained somewhat surprisingly. Although I had never mastered the art of programming I was fascinated by their work, especially the

1 Trampen, autostop, thumbing... it has many names, but the basic idea is to travel with people who have empty seats in their cars. Although some hitchhike mainly because it’s free, many are also motivated by other factors: less environmental baggage, sense of adventure, meeting amazing people, challenging yourself etc. People who are driven by fear couldn’t possibly be driven by strang- ers. hey think hitchhiking is dangerous. It is. Many people die in traic, but usually in their own car. Even more people die in their home. Hitchhiking is all about mutual trust. For more info: www.hitchwiki.org

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