The Real Reason I’m Here

I am shivering as I stand at the side of the road, my thumb pointing to the sky, hoping. Earlier, it was perfect weather: the first sunny day this winter, and I regretted not bringing my sunglasses to protect my eyes against the glare of the snow. After sunset, however, the temperature dropped rapidly.

I don’t have to wait long. A car emerges from the car park opposite me, and in the space of time it takes for my eyes to adjust to the blinding headlights, the car has pulled over beside me. The window opens and the driver leans over with a question. I can guess the meaning and respond accordingly:

‘To Liberec?’

He nods and gets out to help me put my skis in the boot. ‘Cold, isn’t it?’

It turns out he can speak perfect English. He tells me he is a freelance actor and comes to Liberec from Prague most weekends in winter. ‘Prague is good for acting,’ he says. ‘But Liberec is good for sport.’

I’ve only hitchhiked a few times before. Never in England. The first time I was hiking with a friend in Austria and we missed the last bus back to Innsbruck. It went against the grain to stick my thumb out and ask strangers for a lift, and every time a car drove past I felt the rejection keenly. Before long, though, a woman stopped to give us a lift, saying she hoped someone would do the same for her children – but I could hear in her voice that she hoped her children wouldn’t hitchhike in the first place.

The second time I was on my way to ski teacher training in Austria and the early bus didn’t show up. I stuck my thumb out and the first car stopped.

In the last few weeks, the total has increased exponentially. In fact, my boss suggested I do it. He moved out to Liberec from the UK twenty years ago and never left. I think he’s hoping I won’t want to leave either. ‘It’s best to go skiing in the evening when it’s a bit quieter,’ he said. ‘Take a head torch. And you don’t need to worry about catching the bus afterwards, everyone will be heading back to Liberec at that time. Just hitch a ride back.’

So I did. I hopped on the bus after work on Friday afternoon and headed into the woods on my skis, quickly warming up on the initial ascent. I took a familiar route: 20km in total including one section of solid uphill for 5km. On that long climb I stopped only to admire the expert skiers glide effortlessly by (that’s what I told myself, anyway – nothing to do with needing a rest!). After I’d watched them disappear into the distance I tried to copy them. It worked well at first… Until my technique succumbed to exhaustion.

I relished the final descent, feeling like I’d earned it. Cross-country skis don’t have edges like downhill skis, and it’s considerably harder to control your speed…

At the bottom, after checking the timetable for the non-existent bus, I took the advice of my boss.

The drivers have varying levels of English and some of them don’t want to engage in conversation at all. That’s OK. I’m happy staring out of the window at the snowy trees and the glow of the city in the valley below us.

Some of them like to talk and are interested in what I have to say. The most common question is: ‘Why are you here?’ When I was in Russia, this question was tainted with disbelief. They could not comprehend why anyone would choose to go to Siberia when they were often desperate to leave. In Liberec, the question arises more out of simple curiosity. The answer, too, is simple enough: I wanted to go somewhere I could ski.

I found exactly what I was looking for. In fact, it’s even better than I had anticipated. English teaching is turning out to be a fantastic experience, the Czech Republic is awesome and cross-country skiing is my new favourite sport.

The actor from Prague drops me off two minutes from my flat. My hands quickly go numb again as I fumble with the key. Inside, I stretch my aching muscles and hang up my damp kit by the radiator. Tomorrow is Saturday, and I’ll need it all again in the morning.