Traveling around the USA. Cool, cheap, long lasting. Lifehacks. From New York to Tierra del Fuego: How I Hitchhiked Across America Vbulletin Hitchhiking Across America

The situation was very sad: after paying for housing, there was only $20 left in my pocket and there was no work in sight in the near future. The most reasonable thing in such a situation would be to sit at home and eat rice with water. But it was somehow completely uninteresting.

Just 70 km from our house the Atlantic Ocean splashed, and I decided not to waste time and try to hitchhike to it. I already had experience of hitchhiking in the USA: I hitchhiked from the airport to the hotel where I was supposed to work.

Using Googlemaps I quickly found out that the easiest way to get to the coast was via Interstate 4. And, just as importantly, this road passed right under the windows of our house.

Having read several reports on hitchhiking in the US, I knew that catching a car on the highway is a serious violation that can lead to problems with the police. It is best to stop at the entrance to the highway, and such entrances, it must be said, are not located so often. The nearest one had to walk about 3 km.

Using the services of a home air conditioner, I carefully wrote with a marker “ DaytonaBeach "on sheet A4, packed into a small backpack what I would need for 2 days and cheerfully left the house.

While I was getting ready and studying the map, midday suddenly arrived, and the sun began to burn quite noticeably. When I got to the highway exit I was sweaty and pissed off.

In order to have the full moral right to brazenly look into the eyes of the Americans who do not stop next to me (they say: “don’t pretend that you are going the other way”), I approached the very turn onto the highway. Once again thinking about the degree of my idiocy, I took off my backpack, picked up the sign and began to vote, trying to smile at the cars passing by...

For some reason, I thought that I would be able to stop a ride as quickly as during my first hitchhiking at the airport, but after about 20 minutes I realized that I was mistaken. To top it off, I saw a police car driving along the highway. It was too late to lower the sign. I was definitely noticed.

It’s worth making a small digression here. The fact is that in many US states hitchhiking is prohibited. Yes Yes! No matter how strange it may seem. But, as I learned from the hitchhiking Wikipedia, in Florida the police do not bother hitchhikers. However, it should be noted that I did not know the degree of veracity of this information. Besides, the police will probably have their own opinion, no matter what is written in the hitch hiking Wikipedia.

A police car drove in the lane farthest from me and stopped on the other side of the road. It was clear that they did not stop there just to rest. We were separated by three lanes along which cars drove without interruption.

“Well, now I’ll get experience communicating with the American police,” I thought. What would be the smartest thing to do in this situation? Leave? But I won’t fall through the ground. They will still catch up and stop me. I decided to pretend that nothing was happening and continued voting. When the police approach me, I will pretend to be a slow-witted (and, actually, why pretend to be?) foreigner. I’ll tell them that I didn’t know that you can’t stop in the USA. That in my country it’s legal and that’s why I’m used to driving like this... Well, I’ll somehow get away with it. After all, they won't put me in jail, will they?

For probably about 2 minutes, the flow of traffic did not allow the police car to cross the road. And, apparently tired of waiting, the cops turned to me through their megaphone. “Something there, go bek, something there,” they told me. Not really understanding what they wanted, but delighted at this resolution of the situation: “that means they definitely won’t go to jail” - I nodded to them with a smart face and showed an OK gesture.

Apparently, I was standing too close to the turn, which the police did not like and they asked me to move a little back along the road. I walked about 50 meters and turned around: a police car was standing in the same place. I walked another 50 meters: the car drove away.

It was possible to stop further, but, as the famous joke says: “a spoon was found, but the sediment remained.” I was in a bad mood. I was all wet, terribly thirsty and felt that I would get very sunburned a little longer under the scorching tropical sun. There was a McDonald's within a ten minute walk. It was vital for me to put myself under the air conditioning, so I decided to take a short break.

I paid for the Large Soda and, having received a large glass, filled it to the brim with ice and filled the gaps with Coca-Cola. In American fast food establishments, after paying for the drink, you get a glass and fill it with soda yourself. Moreover, since the Soda machine (that’s what the bourgeoisie call soda) stands right in the middle of the dining room, you can approach the machine several times. Well, theoretically, this may not be possible, but everyone, from restaurant workers to ordinary American workers, does not hesitate to approach the machine twice.

I opened my laptop and saw on the map that there was a small town called Deltona on the road between Orlando and Daytonna. Maybe it's worth trying to get to him first? Right there in the cafe (I can’t raise my hand to type that McDonald’s restaurant) a new sign was made “ Deltona " I thought it was more beautiful than the previous one and I hoped that the drivers would also appreciate it.

Before leaving the restaurant, I smeared myself thickly with sunscreen and filled my glass to the brim again. To avoid boredom, I put on my headphones and turned on Tony Joe White. The hitchhiking process has resumed.

Chorusing and dancing, I only managed to listen to three songs when a signal sounded behind me. It turned out that a car had stopped behind me, and I didn’t even notice it. As I ran up, I thought: “How nice it is to stop with a sign. The driver has already agreed to take me to Deltona.” It’s not like on our roads: you run up to the driver, tell him where you’re going, and he replies that it’s not on his way. Straight out of hand!

But in this case, the bird was in the hands: a man in his 50s who was driving was indeed driving to Deltona. He asked me why I was going to Deltona. I answered as it is: I’m going to Daytona Beach to look at the ocean, but I have to go to Deltona because I couldn’t find direct transport. The driver told me that it was strange because almost everyone takes this road to Daytona Beach.

Then we talked a lot. I told about myself, and the driver about himself. It turned out that he works at an amusement park SeaWorld (which, by the way, is not far from our house), and he lives in Deltona. He is married for the second time and has 6 children. Three from the first wife and three from the second. All his children have grown up and have been living separately for a long time; the oldest is 29 years old. He and his wife moved to Florida about three years ago, and before that he lived in Massachusetts.

So, while talking, we quickly got to Deltona. He asked where it would be best to drop me off and I asked him to drop me off somewhere at the exit of the highway so that my further hitchhiking would not be stopped by the police (I already wrote above that stopping on the highway is prohibited). He did just that.

What! It's not all bad. We were less than a third of the way to Daytona Beach.

I took out a ready-made sign, crossed the road and continued to catch rides. Tony Joe White still kept me busy. During the pauses between songs, someone's heart-rending screams began to break through. I turned around and saw a car parked 50 meters away from me, in which an African-American man was sitting and loudly yelling at someone. Thinking that the African American might not appreciate my attention, I decided to ignore the shouts and continued my work. But, after a few minutes, it became very difficult to listen to Tony Joe White: the African American was screaming louder and louder... “When will he stop?” - I thought. So I stood and endured his cries for some more time, and then I thought: maybe he’s shouting to me? Indeed: the driver in the car looked in my direction, shouted and waved his arms. It turned out that he was on his way to Daytona and was ready to let me down...

Damn. It didn't work out well...

The African American was from New York and had his own construction business. He complained to me that for the last 2 years he has had almost no orders and lives off loans, which are still being returned to him by those for whom he built houses. Then he told me at length and in detail about Daytona Beach.

Daytona is the biker capital of America. Bikers hang out in Daytona all the time. But once a year there is a week when bikers from all over America come to the festival. About 10,000 bikers come to the city. This is a lot for a small resort town. The American said that on such days it is almost impossible to drive through the city by car. Bikers are everywhere! Thousands of bikers!

Daytona is also famous throughout the world for its rally track. Several times a year it hosts prestigious tournaments. And, as it turned out quite by chance, today, on the day of my arrival in Daytona, the final of some Nascar Cup was taking place.

The streets in front of the rally track were filled with people. Individual representatives were walking around right next to the road with signs saying “ Needticket " Workers were installing a stage for a concert on the square in front of the entrance.

The driver dropped me off right in the city center and pointed me in the direction to the ocean. He said it was about 2 miles (a little over 3 km) to the coast. "No problem!" - I answered. “I think the same,” the driver answered and we said goodbye.

The sun continued to beat down mercilessly, so 2 miles didn't seem all that short to me. Finally, I reached the ocean coast. In order not to worry about the safety of my things, I went into one of the coastal cafes and told the waitress that I was a tourist, I wanted to swim, but I was worried that someone might steal my backpack with a laptop. “No problem,” she answered me and took my things for storage.

I soaked in the ocean for about 30 minutes and thought that life wasn’t so bad. True, I still didn’t know where I would spend the night, but for some reason it didn’t scare me.

After swimming, I decided to head back to downtown Daytona. Most likely there will be something interesting near the rally track today on the occasion of racing.

The waitress greeted me with a question: “Would you like to buy an inexpensive laptop?” I joked in response that I was ready to take it for nothing. “Well, so be it!” - she answered, returning my backpack.

I spent the night at the airport, sitting comfortably on two large leather chairs... And the next day I went home. But that's a completely different story...

Our new hero, a young Belarusian guy named Verasen, quit his job and went on a year-long journey from New York to Tierra del Fuego. One of its integral attributes was the stool as a symbol of post-Soviet countries and “kitchen” revolutions. He carried her with him and, even though a truck ran over her in Brazil, he took her to the ocean. We learned from the traveler what else happened in his overseas adventure.

Verasen

28 years old, geologist,
traveler, musician

The hardest thing about traveling is deciding to take it. There are always anchors that hold you. I never thought that I would go to America. There was a collective romantic image in my head: Andy Warhol, rock and roll, Woodstock, dangerous blacks. It turned out that everything is wrong, and Mexicans and other Latinos are the most interesting people. In the Warsaw metro I met my future wife; at that time she lived in Kyiv and communicated with travelers. They were going to America, there was an art project by Ukrainian director Leni Kanter “With a stool to the ocean.”

He managed to travel to the Indian, Arctic and Atlantic Oceans, was now gathering company to go to Tikhoy. Everything was conceived as an art expedition: along the way, once a month, organize a festival in one of the cities. We prepared for the trip for about a year. They gave me a visa only the second time, and we flew to New York. Our budget for two was $1,200: we used it to get visas and buy two plane tickets, and upon arrival, a camera, lens, and netbook at a Jewish second-hand shop. The plan was this: make money and move on. In the end it turned out to be about three thousand for two in a year, plus we wrote articles, somehow survived. When we flew out of South America, it was very expensive, and a lot of people chipped in for our ticket. We almost never paid for an overnight stay, but earned money by playing for people. Music is a very lifesaver; it is an absolutely universal survival tool. After all, you need a stranger to stop being afraid of you. And musicians with a guitar and violin rarely attack people. And if you cannot explain yourself through language, then you always have music.

USA - Chile

NUMBER OF COUNTRIES:

North America

The whole world is a big echo of New York. This is truly the capital of the world. You understand a lot there: it’s as if you were watching a movie and then got into it. In New York, thinking changes a lot; it was very difficult to leave it. We rented housing in a black neighborhood, and often on the way home from work I was the only white person in the subway car. You begin to think in terms of money. You arrive, and the next day you are already working. Every day you earn at least $100. It’s very difficult to imagine having a day off, because you don’t get paid for the weekend. Money flows constantly: tips are given everywhere. When you hitchhike, everyone thinks you're so fucking needy and they offer you money.

I remember sitting in a cafe with a hiking backpack, my grandmother came up and gave me ten dollars. She doesn't ask questions, she shoves money - so she talked. Money becomes the equivalent of everything, the cache under your pillow is constantly growing, and it’s difficult to escape from it all. My wife played the violin in Times Square, I worked in a restaurant and in construction. First in Brighton, in a restaurant that appeared in Brother 2. At that time I knew English at the level of “open new file”, “folder”, “delete”. And in most cases, he simply knew where to click. I got a job as a busboy. In theory, you are supposed to clean up the dishes, but in reality, you are doing a job that no one wants to do. Everything is clearly divided there: the hostess, the waiter who only takes the order, the runner who brings the order from the kitchen. Only the waiter receives tips. Everyone is dressed the same, visitors often called me over and asked me something about the dishes from the menu. I listened carefully, said “sure”, went to the kitchen and did not appear in the hall for some time.

Then he went to the Cherry Hill restaurant, which is run by an Azerbaijani Jew. Post-Soviet dudes have two topics of conversation: how little they pay and how much they don’t like everything. There I understood one of the laws of local work: you need to constantly do something. If you are constantly busy with something, no one will give you instructions - the person is already working, why bother him. I became friends with a Mexican, we exchanged jokes without words, and he taught me the basics of Spanish. Then he worked at a construction site until the skin peeled off his hands from the heat. I remember there I borrowed a car from one of the workers to go to Dunkin Donuts - I was driving 160 km/h, enjoying the sensations and driving into some woman’s car. I have no license, no money with me, she doesn’t speak English, only Spanish. I convinced her with my fingers to get behind the wheel of my car, drive to the construction site and take the money there. Everything turned out okay, but I was terribly worried.

In many places in the United States you cannot park on highways. Very often the state police brought us back to the city and warned: “One more time and you’ll go to jail.” We left New York for two days: first a taxi driver gave us a lift, then some guys asked us about the presence of weapons, and then showed us a bat and said that they would kill us if anything happened. The northern United States has the worst hitchhiking in the world; for them, it only exists in the movies. In fact, people are very afraid of everything, because they have legalized weapons. You sit down, they ask: “Do you have a gun?” You drive, talk about other topics, and they ask again if there really isn’t a gun. Some call to tell friends that they are carrying travelers. Others say that if something happens to us in their car, they can easily sue us.

It seemed to me that North America very identical. Washington is a crime-ridden black city in which we naively began to look for accommodation for the night in dangerous areas. You cannot pitch a tent. You need to ask permission to put it in the backyard. It's just that in many states they have the right to shoot you for illegally being on private property. In Washington we found a rugged former paratrooper, the only white man in black street. I played the guitar, my wife played the violin, he had already agreed to shelter us, but then an acquaintance answered us, with whom we could spend the night. All the people we met were very surprised that we were going to South America, and said: “They will kill you there, stay and live with us.”

Central and South America

We applied for a Mexican visa in Moscow, but when we arrived, it had already been canceled in the presence of an American one. The north of Mexico, where the border with the United States lies, is the most dangerous. The Aztecs live there, and the Mayans live in the south. The Aztecs are tall and look like those Mexicans in sombreros that we see in films, and the Mayans are all short and have very clear eyes. We learned the standard text in Spanish: “We are travelers, we need to spend the night.” You say this, and the guy looks you in the eyes and doesn’t ask anything. And then he nods his head and you have the best place for sleep and food. We passed through the most dangerous city world - Ciudad Juarez. There is a constant drug war going on there, military Hummers with machine guns are driving around. The first thing we saw upon arrival was a corpse lying at a public transport stop. Initially we thought to stay there for some time, but somehow we didn’t really want to die.

We were in Bolivia at the largest salt marsh in the world: we stopped the guy who works there. We drove for four days, first in an empty compartment, and then in one filled to the brim with salt. There are no roads, just directions. Somewhere near the salt marsh there is a ghost town where several salt farming families live. We slept on the floor, and there was salt underneath, it was very warm to sleep on. When you walk there, you get the feeling that you are walking on snow, only it is not slippery and tastes salty.

Traveling gives you a very important skill: you learn to find a common language with everyone. Even for bandits, it's cool to meet an interesting dude. You recognize criminals by the way they speak: in a busy tourist place you are a target for them, but when you meet them at home, you cease to be one. They understand that you are not from the USA and look and speak differently. Generally in South America white is always gringo. The only places I haven't seen racism are in Brazil and Ecuador. Attitudes change when you start speaking Spanish, because North Americans don't do that. When traveling, you begin to mirror people, to mimic the environment in which you find yourself. It’s better to figure this out early.

Music helped us a lot. In Costa Rica, we even got a producer; the person who gave us a ride introduced us to him. We played in the coolest jazz club, earned 100 dollars per person in an evening, and it cost us 50 for a month in Central America. We went surfing there. In Honduras we were on the island of El Paco, where local fishermen and transvestites gathered. To local residents They showed a film about hitchhiking in Tibet, and somehow managed to find a projector. Performed in live Panama TV, accidentally met the director of a cargo airline. As a result, we flew to Colombia for free on cargo plane. The only other way to get there is through the Darian Gap - 90 kilometers impenetrable jungle drug trafficking and bandits, where you need to go with a machete if you want to try your luck.

In Colombia, we were met by a companion of a Panamanian friend and given us a house in the city center. Then he invited me to the dacha: a huge family mountain, a river and houses. There was a party there, we were already imagining mountains of Colombian cocaine. And the dudes tell us: “No, drugs are for the poor.” Such an upside down world. In South America, drugs are everywhere, they always offer you something. But there it is for those who work a lot. For example, in Mexico all truck drivers are on amphetamine, some smoke through a light bulb - we have met such people. Powder is poured into the base, set on fire, and the vapors are inhaled.

We were in Patagonia - the steppes where crazy winds blow. Drivers constantly steer in the direction from which the wind is blowing, because the wind can overturn the car. In southern Argentina, cities are located at least 200 kilometers from each other. Eat Railway, which was bought by the guys responsible for road freight transportation and simply turned off, now all cargo is transported only by trucks.

In general, while traveling, the density of life increases five times: remembering, I think that I dreamed everything. And we took the stool to Tierra del Fuego and left it there by the ocean. She constantly attracted attention, they tried to buy her from us, and in Brazil she was run over by a truck. The most remarkable thing is that it broke down in a place where they do woodworking, so we quickly fixed it.

When traveling you need to be light, we were constantly getting rid of things. A person doesn’t need much: in principle, you can get by with an iPhone and a charger. The main thing for traveling is desire. If you have it and you don’t dwell on problems, then everything will be a pleasure.

Looking ahead, I would like to admit honestly that hitchhiking in the USA is pretty bad. I can't say I have a ton of experience to compare it to, but from what I've had in the southern US, as well as from other freewheeling travelers, I can say that the US is not the best place to hitchhike.

In fact, the USA is considered the birthplace of hitchhiking, which in American English language called Hitch Hiking. Those. this term is of purely American origin and came into other languages ​​(for example, British English, etc.) from here. And the whole point is that the USA, among other things, is one of the most (if not the most) motorized countries in the world. After all, back in the 20s of the last century, during the production boom, conveyors for the production of cars were launched here, not as a piece product, but as a consumer product. Namely, it was Henry Ford - a crafty American businessman.

And if there are cars, then we need roads - large-scale construction of highways between American cities has begun. Those. not just primers, but hard coatings. Well, if there are many roads and many cars that travel along these roads, then there will also be those people who do not have a car, but have the need to move somewhere. This is where the hitchhiking began. People hitched rides and rode them about their business. A whole culture of Hitch Hiking appeared, which later spread to other parts of the world.

The peak of hitchhiking's popularity in the United States came in the 60s and 70s, when, among other things, many hippies and various partygoers were traveling around the country in this way, carelessly driving around in all directions. Many of them are still alive and often stop for hitchhikers themselves. Due to the abundance of expressways (Interstates) connecting different states, hitchhiking has become quite problematic. Speed ​​limits on such highways are usually around 70-75 mph, i.e. about 120-130 km/h. It is very difficult for the driver to stop for a hitchhiker, sometimes he does not even have time to see him. Also, in some states such as New Jersey, Utah, Colorado and Idaho, hitchhiking is illegal. In other states it is only prohibited on expressways. In some states, such as Arizona, it is legal to ride in the back of a pickup truck.

My hitchhiking period started in the city Atlanta, Georgia, which I arrived on a Chinese bus from New York. That was my plan. Having previously stored maps of the city (images from Google Maps), I went to the highway Interstate-85. I passed through Atlanta, looked around the city a little, bought water at 2$ and went out onto the track.

Atlanta, Georgia

View of the city center

At first I tried to stop in the wrong place, after which I decided to walk a little to change my position, but literally after 5 minutes the car stopped. The driver, a white man, said, “Get in, let’s go.” I said that I needed to go south, somewhere there, towards Alabama. Interstate-85 heads southwest into the city Montgomery, Alabama. Where, in fact, I was moving. After Montgomery I planned to go to Interstate-65, leading to Mobile,Alabama, and therefore asked him to give me a lift before leaving the city, i.e. until 65th.

After spending time having a heart-to-heart conversation, he decided to give me a ride even further, along 65th, and, at the same time, pay for my hotel room. In the end he took me to Greenville, Alabama, there I paid for the room 69$ In a hotel Best Western , and also fed me dinner at a local fast food restaurant. Those. In total, except gas, he spent about 100 bucks on me - Southern Hospitality.

Greenville, Alabama

Driver

Room in Hotel Best Western

Interstate 65, here I turn right

In Greenville I slept well, like a gentleman, washed myself and, having breakfast in the morning, drove on. I went out onto the highway and waited for about 30 minutes, after which the car stopped. The driver is an African American who was heading to Slidell, Louisiana. We had a long drive ahead of us through Alabama, Mississippi and Louisiana, after which he dropped me off at a trailer park. It was a rainy day and I couldn’t go any further, just like putting up a tent. I had to stay in the parking lot for truckers, in a specially equipped rest room. I spent the night there.

Going to Slidell, Louisiana

The next morning and the whole next day, a very difficult hitchhiking awaited me. I got to New Orleans, and quite quickly, but I still couldn’t get far from it. I walked through the entire city, tried to stop on the highway, after which a policeman put me in a car and drove me away from the highway. I came back again, but still couldn’t find a car.

New Orleans, Louisiana

The weather was normal at first, but then everything became cloudy and it started to rain. I stood in the rain in many places, for an average of 30-50 minutes, moving in numerous cars, but over a short distance. As a result, I changed many cars, but drove very little.

At the next position, after waiting for about 40-50 minutes, getting completely wet, I decided to go look for a warm place. I went to McDonald's and sat there drying out. Having dried a little, I saw that the rain had stopped. I decided to go wander around this town and ask the locals about getting registered (overnight). But I didn't find anything. The time was 16:00. I decided to go back to the position and stop the car until the victory, well, I don’t want to stay here in this hole.

The inscription on the sign: "Evacuation route in case of a hurricane"

Hitchhiking in the rain

I drew an inscription on a piece of cardboard Texas and with her he returned to his previous position. Luckily for me, after about 5-10 minutes an old pickup truck stopped. I didn’t even notice him, he honked at me for a long time, and I didn’t even expect the car to stop so quickly. Seeing him, like a tiger hunting for prey, with eyes wide open in surprise and joy, I ran to the driver.

The driver was a simple man of about 60 years old. An ordinary worker in a dirty old pickup truck. He says that he used to be a tramp for some time and slept under a bridge. A warm-hearted and understanding person, he treated me to a bottle of Sprite and gave me a lift to the next trailer park. He didn’t take me further into the city, because here I could quickly negotiate with the driver, instead of standing on the highway. It soon became dark, and I decided to try my luck to go to the highway at night. The position was excellent: under the lantern I was clearly visible. But, after waiting for 2 hours, I went back to the parking lot to get ready for bed. I thought that no one would stop, so I just stood there, fortunately it wasn’t raining.

Night hitchhiking in the USA

I spent the night on some bench inside the store. It is specially designed for recreation, but it is usually not customary to spend the night there, because tramps, as a rule, are not allowed in. But they allowed me to stay the night. At night a policeman came and spoke to me. I said that I was a traveler from Russia, and not a tramp at all.

The next morning, without waiting for dawn, I went to ask truck drivers if anyone was going to Texas. A long-range tractor with a truck in the USA is called Truck. About the 4th truck that pulled up to the gas station took me with it. It turned out to be a Russian-speaking guy from Moldova who has been living in the USA for a whole year. Since I also turned out to be a Russian-speaking traveler, and not at all a local drug-addicted tramp, my fellow ex-USSR countryman gladly sheltered me in the cabin of his truck.

Houston highways

It turned out that he was going all the way to San Antonio, whereas I wanted to at least get to Houston. We had a long journey ahead of us through Louisiana to Texas. We passed through cities like Baton Rouge, Lafayette, Beaumont, Houston. After which he threw me out at the next truck stop, so as not to bring me to San Antonio, where I would not have found a place to spend the night.

For every 50 gallons of diesel fuel collected, he is entitled to a free shower at this network of gas stations, which he kindly provided to me, while he went to unload. It was great to have a shower after a long journey. In a vacant lot near the parking lot, I chose a place for a tent and went to bed in the evening. It was a wonderful night..

Cultural recreation in a tent in a Texas field

The next morning I started communicating with the drivers, of whom there were quite a few at the gas station. But no one picked me up. I asked a lot of drivers of both trucks and cars - no one goes to the side Laredo. After a long unsuccessful experience of communicating with drivers, a gas station employee approached me and said that I could not ask drivers on the territory of the gas station. Because they come here to relax, buy necessities, refuel, and do not want to communicate with vagabonds - this is the company’s policy. I later learned that all companies follow this policy, even Mexican ones.

The shadow of a lonely wanderer...

Long story short, I was back on the track. Again I stood in position for about 40 minutes - no one stopped. I changed my position and walked some distance. While I was walking, one car picked me up, albeit at a short distance. But that’s good too. Then again I went out onto the track, again stood with my arm outstretched and my thumb. Again someone stopped - and again I drove a couple of miles. For the third time, the car already dropped me before leaving San Antonio, on the road towards Laredo.

There again the same situation. I'd drive for a few miles with someone, then get out at a gas station and either wait for a new driver or chat with the truck drivers. But, as a rule, it is unsuccessful. But, in fact, it was just bad luck. Some really didn’t go to Laredo, some in the other direction, some are not allowed by the company to take travel companions, some are simply afraid. Someone fed me hot dogs, someone else gave me change, and finally, after a long wait, I found a truck that picked me up all the way to Laredo.

Sunny Texas

Let's go to Laredo

Mexican checkpoint, Laredo

Border with Mexico

This was a guy who looked young, but he was already 52. ​​With him was his African American girlfriend, with whom he cheated on his wife. He took me all the way to Laredo, where I continued on my way to the Mexican border. I didn’t walk, but asked one guy to give me a lift along the way towards the checkpoint with Mexico, i.e. V south direction. Next, I still had to walk, although quite a bit.

Americans do not put an exit stamp at the exit, and when crossing the border you will only see Mexican border guards. Those. The receiving party is responsible for entry. Mexicans have similar rules. You can safely leave the territory of the United States, but at the entrance you will be greeted by control.

The border between Texas and the Mexican state of Tamaulipas runs along the Rio Bravo River, across which bridges are built. Very convenient border crossings, through which many Mexicans and citizens of other Central American countries pass through. Next, my path lay in Mexico, where it ended, however, at that moment I did not know this yet, and thought that I would reach Panama. After Mexico, I got out in Arizona, but read on about that.