From a rabbi to Robert Kubicka: A hitchhiker’s guide to the galaxy (well, Spain, France, Switzerland and Poland) Part Five: pulling rabbis out of hats

God's ear: a rabbi points the way to Geneva

I didn't have to wait long before I was on my way again, this time thanks to, you've guessed it, a rabbi.

I asked him if he spoke English. He said "non" so the initial conversation was conducted in French. He appeared so horrified by my attempts that suddenly he managed to muster some English. And it was more than adequate for us to converse until we got to Geneva.

"Are you married?" he asked

From anyone else I would've interpreted this as being a little forward but this was coming from someone who had God's ear, though obviously not Jesus's.

"No," I replied.

"You should marry someone who likes to travel."

"And someone with a car," I mused.

He didn't laugh. I decided to put it down to the language barrier.

"Have you felt the presence of God on this journey?" said the inquisitive rabbi.

"Between Brive-la-Gaillarde and Lyon, quite possibly. But the rest I'm not so sure," I responded.

Not even a smirk was apparent from my driver. Perhaps I was being too smug, particularly for someone whose life was in someone else's hands.

In the blink of an eye Geneva was upon us and I was seeking my next lift. I headed to the lake and sought a trip to Lausanne, or perhaps, if I was to be lucky, Zürich.

A young lad soon pulled up and took me a couple of kilometres to a petrol station where I met a Swiss-French guy who I imposed myself upon.

At first I thought he was going to take me to Lausanne, then Basel seemed to be possible. However, we couldn't communicate in a language either of us understood and, eventually, he dropped me off at a petrol station about six kilometres past Lausanne.

Sadly, the next stroke of luck didn't occur for quite some time. My evening was spent residing in a phone box in an attempt to keep warm, as the gas station was closed and about two cars came through all night.

There was one chink of light, though: I managed, through the wonders of technology, to book a seat in a car through mitfahrgelegentheit (a carpooling website) from Munich to Warsaw. I just needed to get to the Bavarian city by 17:00 to catch that lift. Possible, but I needed a helping hand and this was, on current form, not forthcoming.

I was just ticking off the minutes, which took all night unsurprisingly, until the cafeteria adjacent to the station opened.

When it did I must have asked about 100 people for a lift to Basel, Bern or Zürich but no-one seemed interested in my plight. It was also surprising how few people spoke either English or German, particularly as the latter is one of Switzerland's official languages.

After a further 90 minutes passed by I decided to speed up my journey by taking a step back, to take two steps forward. After all, I had to be in Warsaw within 36 hours.

From a rabbi to Robert Kubicka: A hitchhiker’s guide to the galaxy (well, Spain, France, Switzerland and Poland) Part Four: Somewhere in France to somewhere else in France, but this time near Switzerland

Rain

The English. That was the first surprise I encountered. But not the jolly, friendly English. No. The middle class, pompous, bigoted 'we've hired a people carrier in southern France' kind of English.

Mind you, I was finding it hard to disguise my hidden agenda.

Anyway, once they were swiftly encountered I moved onto my next target. A French lady who was stood at the bar in the cafeteria. Sadly, pleasant though she was, she was heading in the wrong direction, towards Bordeaux. Tempting though it was to turn round and give up on my adventure to return home, I declined her offer of a lift.

Moreover, my luck was just about to take a turn for the better.

Just outside the cafeteria and near the exit of the gas station, a driver-by asked me: "Where are you off to?"

"Lyon," I responded, though I wanted to go further. In fact, for a joke, I wanted to say Warsaw but then maybe my abstract sense of humour might be lost on the French. Actually, it tends to be lost on the English too. So much so that I am beginning to doubt whether I have a sense of humour at all.

No matter.

Rain

"And where are you off to?" I continued.

"Lyon," came the welcome response. "Let's go," the driver said in near perfect English.

The next few hours flew by (slight exaggeration) in the midst of a conversation about linguistics in which I was largely out of my depth. Nevermind. I bluffed my way through it.

He (I can't remember his name, probably Pierre) dropped me off at a petrol station just the other side of Lyon and I awaited my next stroke of luck.

And yet more rain

There was free internet so I used and abused this service until just after 8 o'clock when the station closed. I was soon on my way again when another man took me further in the direction of Geneva. He had just dropped off his daughter who was returning to university. That is all I can remember from the one hour journey, apart from the fact that the spitting rain turned into an avalanche of rain.

Now I guess you are wondering, if you are still with me at this point, where the rabbi and Robert Kubicka come into play. Well, you will have to read the next excerpt. Oh, what a tease.