My scary first hitchhike

Eighteen, shirtless, and alone in middle of nowhere Spain — what could go wrong?

Me hitchhiking in Taiwan a few years after the hitchhike in this story.

It’s a hot day, around 35 degrees Celsius, and I’ve been walking for eight hours under the scorching sun.

During this time I didn’t see a single person, got lost, ran out of water, almost stepped on a snake, had to run from some stray dogs, and lost my shirt, which I’d taken off and put over my shoulder because of the heat.

I’m eighteen and I’m in a proper middle of nowhere in Spain. It’s my first solo trip, and I decided I wanted to go on a hike.

As I was going from Barcelona to Valencia, I looked on Google Maps for a green spot on the way and simply decided to make my way there.

This strategy got me to Alcalà de Xivert, a village home to just a couple thousand people. Most people don’t speak Spanish there, only Valenciano, a language I don’t know, and, when my train arrived in the station, I found the town completely empty.

There was not a single person out on the streets, and all shops were closed.

Arriving at my hostel, I ring the bell and ask the lady doing my check-in if it’s a holiday or something.

“It’s 2pm”, she replies.

Of course, everyone is asleep. In small towns like these the town actually becomes a ghost town during the siesta, as opposed to the bigger cities.

The following day I set off for my hike on the Serra d'Irta park. The views were fantastic. I first had the ruins of an old Moor castle just for myself, and then traversed over the hills until I reached the Mediterranean sea on the other end.

Yet despite enjoying myself, as the day neared its end, I was exhausted. After all, I’d had my fair share of difficulties, as mentioned earlier.

So, having exited the trail partially naked, I started walking on the only road in the park towards the exit, aiming to reach Alcossebre and take a bus or taxi from there back to Alcalà de Xivert.

I remember thinking that at this point I’d accomplished my goal and would happily take a ride to town if a car were to pass by, but having not hitchhiked before, I didn’t actually get my thumb up when a car started coming towards me in the distance.

As if he’d read my mind, the driver stopped and asked me if I wanted a ride. Tired as I was, I happily accepted.

I have no pictures from that Spain trip, so here’s me hitchhiking in Switzerland almost a decade later (there’s a reason I’m in such a bad spot)

However, being young and inexperienced, as well as raised to be cautious as a Brazilian, I didn’t let my guard down.

I kept my hand by the door handle, didn’t put my seatbelt on, and, just in case, discreetly pulled my hiking pocket knife into my pocket when I went to grab my wallet from my backpack.

As someone who’s hitchhiked a ton since then, this seems ridiculous. But I was young and a bit scared, and it’s almost like my brain knew something was off.

The driver wasn’t Spanish, so we had some difficulties communicating, but otherwise the ride was uneventful up until we reached Alcossebre.

I’d mentioned I was staying at the other village and that he could drop me off at the bus stop, from where I’d find my way back.

But as we exited the park, he told me he could take me all the way to where I was staying, despite living in Alcossebre himself.

I politely refused, saying I knew there were buses and it was no trouble to get one, but he insisted, and I accepted. I told myself I’d give him the address of the restaurant a few blocks down from where I was staying and walk the rest of the way to the hostel.

Satisfied, he then said: “Alright, I’ll just go home and get changed and I’ll drive you there.”

I saw very clearly how this excuse made sense in his head, but also how it was certainly an excuse. He was a gardener, and had on dirty clothes from work. But the idea that he needed to get changed to drive me fifteen minutes down the road didn’t fool anybody.

I protested politely but decisively, yet he didn’t budge. This was the case with every new invite of his. Although in some ways I feel I didn’t overreact because I feared it would make things worse. I also still had hope of de-escalating whatever situation might arise.

Either way, we arrived at his house and I told him I’d wait in the car while he got changed. Yet once again, he pressured me, telling me to come in and get some water or something.

He opened the door and went in first, with me behind him. I remember distinctively leaving the door slightly open, but then seeing him come back around and close it properly.

As I walked in, I went straight to his balcony. He lived on the first floor, so I decided my escape route would be to jump out of the balcony onto the grass three or four meters below and run as fast as I could.

With this in mind, I leaned against the balcony’s low wall and held tightly onto the knife in my pocket, keeping both hands in my pockets as if out of habit.

It was then that the advances started.

He never got too close, but, implying his company in all cases, he invited me to lie down in bed, take a shower, and so on.

Reflecting back on the experience, I realized I had an experience very similar to what women in particular face quite often.

But with some luck, and a fair bit of quick thinking, nothing bad actually happened. I told him it’d be good to hang out, but I was extremely tired from hiking all day and would rather meet some other time (similar to what I did when I accidentally ended up a brothel in Medellín many years later).

I told him I was leaving town in three days (I actually had my train booked for the next morning), and gave him a fake name, a fake number, and a fake address.

When he dropped me off in front of the restaurant, I walked in as if I was spending the night there, and remember the waitress screaming at me for being shirtless, while I tried to convey to her in Spanish that I felt unsafe and wanted to just be there for a little bit.

It was all a bit scary and while I definitely wouldn’t want to find out, I feel like the man wasn’t violent, but just really lonely. He certainly didn’t act in the best way, but I’d like to believe he wasn’t a bad person.

Either way, that was my first hitchhike ever.

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My father always told me that the vast majority of people are good.

And this is why I like to tell this story.

Because while it was my first hitchhike, it didn’t stop me from hitchhiking afterwards.

Since then, I’ve gotten dozens on dozens of rides all over the world, including in places like Colombia and Brazil, traditionally known to be more dangerous, and never again had another situation where I felt unsafe.

In fact, I’ve had experiences where people have gone above and beyond to help me, be it through driving hours past their destination to drop me off, or insisting on buying me food.

So I like to use this first hitchhike as my lesson to not “judge a book by its cover” — just because you’ve had a bad experience doesn’t mean that’s how the world is.

It might not be all, but most people are indeed good, I tell you.

Pictures with some of the people who have given me rides throughout the years. ❤️