The power of the thumb: Vanquish the tourist label

Everyone who has been will tell you that hitch-hiking restores your faith in humanity; the kindness and generosity of strangers can be overwhelming. But for me the most remarkable part of hitch-hiking is that, as soon as you step into a person’s car/ truck/ van you stop being a tourist. Regardless of language barrier, the hilarious (to them) fashion sense or the enormous back-packs that mark you out in most countries as prime sucker material. I’ve found that hitch-hiking is an activity that equalises.

The gruff Spanish men who picked us up in Toledo would in other circumstances have seemed intimidating; while I’m sure they wouldn’t have stopped to take a second look at me. But sharing cigarettes in their car, while not necessarily giving me a deep insight into Southern Spanish culture (Christ knows what they were saying most of the time), meant we were treated like friends, not aliens from Planet Stupid.

And anyone who has been to Paris with their absolute contempt for tourists will understand me when I say that the most surprising ride was with an extremely suave Parisian, who regaled us with stories about his family, his own hitching experiences, and the idiocy of American tourists. I’m sure that he usually complains as vociferously about English tourists but, with the magical power of the thumb we were transformed from tourists to that strange category, of equals.

This equality can be difficult to reach; as someone who has to wear factor 50 even in a British summer I usually stand out a fair amount wherever I go, and throughout my childhood was constantly embarrassed by my parents’ obsession for ostentatiously looking things up in guidebooks and checking maps. But hitch-hiking is so far one of the few ways I’ve found of going on holiday and not feeling out of place, or like an embarrassing tourist of the socks-and-sandals variety.