我是女生，我愛搭便車

I was sitting in an excessively hip1） bar in Kreuzberg， Berlin when I turned to my neighbor for conversation. Another American woman. Over our glasses of white wine and Seltzer2）， we exchanged the usual remarks—where we were going， where we’d been. I told her I was on a year-long sabbatical3） from college and spending the final months of my “world tour” in Europe.

“You’re traveling by train？” It was more statement than question.

“Well， since Croatia I’ve been hitchhiking.”

“Alone？”

“Yes.” I cringed， accustomed to the response by now， since it was the same one I’d gotten with friends I stayed with across Europe. She shook her head in disbelief， or disapproval， I was never sure which.

“You are either very brave or very stupid，” she said. “Or crazy.”

I smiled. “We’re all a bit crazy，” I told her.

I love adventures. Over the course of my year-long journey， they became my reason for existence. I had always wanted to be fearless， and now I had begun to actively seek out and defeat the things that scared me. I got in motorcycle accidents in India. I accepted invitations to strangers’ homes in Nepal. I hopped buses on an impulse and boats on a whim. I ate street food throughout Asia. I tried to shake free of the platitude4） that， as a young woman， I must always travel with fear and caution.

By the time I reached Europe in April of 2013， seven months into my trip， the initial euphoria5） of my solo journey had begun to fade. I crossed the Balkans by bus and train and realized that the simple act of travel had ceased to be an adventure. Trains， which I had loved with a romantic nostalgia bordering on the irrational， had become banal， and that saddened me. I sought to rekindle my adventure.

That is how， on April 20， 2013， I found myself walking out of Dubrovnik， Croatia， a piece of paper in hand with “SPLIT” （my next destination） written on it. As I walked an hour to my “hitch spot，” a promising stretch of road just before the highway， the late-morning sun scorched my neck and shoulders， beads of sweat formed on my nose， and my overfilled pack chafed6） my hips. I had 227 kilometers to travel， a map in my head， and a can of bear spray in my pocket.

Ten minutes later I was chatting with Marco and Sascha， two young Macedonian soldiers on leave from their U.S. army service in Afghanistan. Their accounts of drug busts， combat and war put my own stories into perspective. My heart， which had been pounding since I walked past the bus station and out of my comfort zone， returned to a normal rhythm as we sped along the shimmering Dalmatian coast. They left me at the tolls just outside Split， and I quickly found another ride to the old city.

Marco and Sascha had the distinction of being my first lift， but they wouldn’t be the last. Over the next three months， I traveled more than 6，000 kilometers in over 50 vehicles through Croatia， Slovenia， Austria， Germany， France and Italy， all by the force of my thumbs.

I had heard many times that I was brave to travel alone， and I had always shrugged my thanks. It had seemed a bit of an exaggeration. It was not until I stuck my thumb out on that open Croatian road that I truly felt I was doing something courageous. That is， I was doing something that， quite reasonably， frightened me. In hitchhiking， I had to fully open myself to the vast and uncertain possibilities of the world. It was equally thrilling and terrifying. The exhilaration of this openness， the surge of adrenaline7） in my belly， struck me each morning as I carefully spelled out my next destination in bold， black letters. The elation8） of being on my way after a long wait， totally free and moving， always moving， never faded as I stepped from one car to the next.

As I continued on， my pack became lighter. I gave away clothing to friends， left behind shoes， used up my shampoo and didn’t buy more. I became lighter.

I could， in response to expressions of disbelief and disapproval， argue the statistics： that I was safer on the road in Germany than at a frat9） party at my college， that my odds of being harmed were so low that I might as well take risks and enjoy them， that I was more likely to get run over by a car， anyways. I could argue that I carried pepper spray， waited at gas stations and took rides selectively， but those are 1 securities and， regardless， I made my choice on principle. My decision to hitchhike， and then to continue hitchhiking， sprang not from recklessness or a cynical conviction in the futility of caution， but from optimism.

I believe in the goodness of humanity. Not naively—I have encountered too much of the bad to ignore it—but with the same faith that some believe in god. Stubbornly. I chose to act not out of fear of the violent， malicious minority， but out of faith in a good-hearted， decent majority. As the kilometers accumulated， hitchhiking reinvigorated10） not only my love of travel and my self-assurance as a solo female traveler， but also my love of humanity.

Over the course of those three months and 6，000 kilometers， I came to know the world one car at a time. I shared Prince cookies with a filmmaker in Germany. I arrived in Monaco in a convertible11） and crossed the Island of Elba in a mail truck. I upgraded from paper signs to cardboard. I traveled at 250 km/hour， and I didn’t take any trains.

On three separate occasions， female friends joined me for a few days of my journey. I shared with them the best feeling in the world： movement.

I shared stories along the way， but mostly I listened. When a Jordanian hotel magnate12）’s son described his plans for a theatrical suicide， I told him that if no one else did， I would care if he went through with it. When a German grandfather spoke of his family， I asked for details. I became an expert in caring—I cared about their children and businesses， their vacations and troubles， all of it—because once I buckled my seat belt suddenly it all mattered.

I knew well the dangers of my chosen mode of transport. You could argue that I courted danger， but I would counter that I refused to be cowed13） by it. Tom Robbins14） writes in Even Cowgirls Get the Blues， his novel about an extraordinary female hitchhiker， “To live fully， one must be free， but to be free one must give up security.” It might be crazy and stupid， and maybe brave， too， but I found I would take extraordinary risks for the right to adventure.

Ladies， adventuresses， wild women of the twenty-first century： If I see you on the road， I’ll be stopping. I have a lifetime of generosity to pay forward.

1. hip [h?p] adj. 非常時尚的

2. Seltzer ['seltz?（r）] n. （德國）賽爾脫茲礦泉水（一種天然的起泡礦泉水）

3. sabbatical [s?'b?tik（?）l] n. （供大學老師進行學術研究或旅游且通常帶薪的）公休假

4. platitude ['pl?t?tju?d] n. 陳詞濫調

5. euphoria [ju?'f??ri?] n. 精神歡快

6. chafe [t?e?f] vt. 擦破;擦痛

7. adrenaline [?'dren?l?n] n. [生化]腎上腺素

8. elation [?'le??（?）n] n. 興高采烈

9. frat [fr?t] n. 兄弟會

10. reinvigorate [?ri??n'v?g?re?t] vt. 使再振作

11. convertible [k?n?v??（r）t?b（?）l] n. 折篷轎車

12. magnate ['m?gne?t] n. 要人;富豪

13. cow [ka?] vt. 威脅，恐嚇

14. Tom Robbins：湯姆·羅賓斯（1932～），美國作家。他的小說《藍調女牛仔》（Even Cowgirls Get the Blues）被拍成了電影，于1993年上映。

在我轉向鄰座聊天時，我正坐在柏林克羅伊茨貝格區一家非常時尚的酒吧里。鄰座也是一位來自美國的女士。我們喝著賽爾脫茲礦泉水和白葡萄酒，聊著些大家常聊的話——打算去哪里以及去過哪里。我告訴她我在大學任教，正在休為期一年的公休假，目前在歐洲度過我“周游世界之旅”的最后幾個月。

“你是坐火車旅行吧？”這句話與其說是提問，倒不如說是陳述。

“我從克羅地亞開始就一直搭順風車旅行。”

“一個人？”

“是的。”我尷尬地答道。對她的這種反應，我已習以為常，在橫跨歐洲旅行期間，和朋友們在一起時，他們都會問同樣的問題。她搖了搖頭，表示不相信或者不贊成，我一直不確定是前者還是后者。

“你要么極勇敢，要么極愚蠢，”她說，“或者說是極瘋狂。”

我笑了笑，告訴她：“我們都有點瘋狂。”

我喜愛冒險。在長達一年的旅行中，冒險成為我存在的理由。我一直想當個天不怕地不怕的人，而如今，我開始主動尋找并戰勝令我感到恐懼的事情。在印度，我坐摩托車時遭遇了多起事故。在尼泊爾，我接受邀請去過陌生人家里。我曾一時沖動蹦上巴士就走，也曾心血來潮跳上船旅行。我在亞洲各地旅行期間到處品嘗街邊小吃。人們常說，年輕女性旅行時一定會心懷恐懼、倍加小心，當時的我努力擺脫這種看法。

2013年4月抵達歐洲時，我的旅行進入第七個月，最初獨自旅行的興奮已經開始消退。搭乘巴士和火車游遍整個巴爾干半島后，我意識到，單純的旅行已不再是一種冒險。我原本喜歡乘火車，對于火車，我有一種摻雜著懷舊情緒的近乎不可理喻的浪漫情懷，但現在，我卻覺得乘火車乏味無趣，這讓我感到悲哀。我要重燃激情，尋求冒險。

正因為如此，2013年4月20日，我走出克羅地亞的杜布羅夫尼克市，手里拿著一張紙，上面寫著“斯普利特”（我的下一個目的地）。我朝“搭車點”走了一個小時，那是上高速之前很有希望搭上車的一段路。近中午的太陽灼燒著我的脖子和肩膀，我的鼻子上滲出一滴滴的汗珠，滿載的背囊把我的臀部磨得很痛。我還有227公里的路程，我的腦子里裝著地圖，兜里裝著一瓶驅熊噴霧劑。

十分鐘后，我已跟馬爾科和薩沙聊開了。這兩個年輕的馬其頓士兵在駐阿富汗的美國陸軍中服役，此時正在休假。他們對緝毒行動、作戰和戰爭的描述讓我對自己的經歷有了恰當的認識。自打走過巴士站，離開自己的舒適安全區后，我的心一直在怦怦跳。當車沿著波光粼粼的達爾馬提亞海岸急駛時，我的心跳恢復了正常。他們在斯普利特城外的收費站讓我下了車，之后我很快便搭上了另一輛前往這座古城的車。

馬爾科和薩沙的特別之處在于他們給了我第一趟順風車，但絕不是最后一趟。在此后的三個月里，我搭了50余輛車，行程超過6000公里，橫穿克羅地亞、斯洛文尼亞、奧地利、德國、法國和意大利，全程靠的都是豎起大拇指。

很多人都說我勇敢，竟獨自旅行。聽到這樣的話，我總是聳聳肩，表示感謝。這種說法好像有點夸張。直到站在克羅地亞那條開闊的公路上豎起大拇指的那一刻，我才真正感到自己在做一件勇敢的事。也就是說，我在做自己害怕的事情，這種害怕完全在情理之中。搭車的時候，我必須完全敞開自我來面對這個充滿各種變數的世界，這既令我興奮，又讓我害怕。每天早晨，當我用黑色的粗體字小心翼翼地寫出下一個目的地時，這樣敞開自我帶來的興奮以及體內腎上腺素的激增讓我激動異常。漫長的等待過后終于上路，無拘無束，開始前行，一直不停，從一輛車換到另一輛車上，那種興奮勁從未減退。

我繼續前行，背囊變得越來越輕。我把衣服送給朋友，扔掉鞋子，用完洗發水后也不再買新的。我也越來越輕松。

有人對我搭便車旅行表示不相信或不贊成，對此我可以用統計數據來辯解：我在德國公路上要比在大學的兄弟會上更安全;我受傷害的幾率很低，因此我不妨享受冒險的樂趣;無論怎樣，我被車撞到的可能性更大一些。我可以辯解說，我隨身帶著胡椒噴霧，只在加油站等車，有選擇性地搭車。不過，這些安全措施都靠不住。可不管怎樣，我的選擇是有原則的。我之所以決定搭車，后來又繼續搭車，不是因為魯莽，或是憤世嫉俗地認為再小心也沒用，而是因為我有一種樂觀的信念。

我相信人性的善良，這并非出于天真——我見過太多人性的惡，無法對其視而不見——但我對人性善的信念就像有些人信奉上帝那樣執著。固執地相信。我不會出于害怕狂暴、邪惡的少數人而不去做某事，而是出于相信多數人的善良和正派去做事。隨著旅行的里程越來越遠，搭順風車不僅重新喚起我對旅行的熱愛，重振我作為一名女性獨自旅行的信心，而且讓我重拾對人類的熱愛。

歷時三個月，旅行了6000公里，我開始了解世界，每搭一次車，了解就多一點。在德國，我與一位電影制作人一塊分享王子牌餅干。我到摩納哥，搭的是敞篷車。橫穿厄爾巴島時，我坐的是郵政車。我手里的紙片升級成了紙板。我的旅行速度曾達到每小時250公里。我從沒乘過火車。

曾有三次，有女性朋友加入了我的旅程，和我一起共同旅行了幾天。我與她們分享了世界上最棒的感覺：行在路上。

一路上，我分享故事，但大多數情況下，我只是聽。一位約旦酒店巨頭的兒子向我描述了他準備以充滿戲劇色彩的方式自殺的打算。我告訴他，即便別人都不在意，我也會在意他是否會實施計劃。當一位德國祖父談及他的家庭時，我詢問相關的細節。我成了關心人的專家——關心他們的孩子和工作，假期和煩惱，以及所有的一切——因為一旦我系上安全帶，這一切忽然都變得很重要。

我深知自己選擇的交通方式充滿了危險。你可以說我在自找危險，但我會反駁說，我拒絕被危險嚇倒。湯姆·羅賓斯寫過一本名為《藍調女牛仔》的書，描述了一位搭車旅行的神奇女子。書中寫道：“要想活得充實，就必須自由，但是要想自由，就必須放棄安全。”這也許聽起來瘋狂、愚蠢，或許也很勇敢，但我發現為了獲得冒險的權利，自己愿意承擔超乎尋常的風險。

女士們，女冒險家們，21世紀狂野的女性們：如果我在路上看見你們，我會停車。我這一生要把慷慨傳遞下去。