Leaving Estonia Again: Hitchhiking Through Finland, Sweden and Denmark
As it was impossible for me to stay in Estonia any longer without activity or income, I had to move on again.
With my last 50 euros from Social Services, plus some help from my mother and aunt to buy a small backpack, I managed to purchase a ferry ticket to Helsinki. I stayed with a friend from the 6th of May and remained in Finland for nearly two weeks. But Finland was cold, rainy and dull at that time of year. After meeting the people I needed to meet, I decided I had drunk enough of her coffee. When the first sunny day arrived, I took my backpack and started hitchhiking toward Turku to catch the ferry to Stockholm.
Meanwhile, I registered for every strawberry-picking job I could find, hoping to earn enough money for a computer. No one replied.
Hitchhiking out of Helsinki was difficult at first, but eventually it worked out. One Finnish couple admired my courage to travel to Paris with almost no money and gave me 20 euros for the road. It was a kind gesture — I was able to buy food for the trip, not knowing what prices would be like in Sweden and Denmark.
With the last of my Estonian Social Services money, I bought the ferry ticket to Stockholm. Online it was advertised as 10 euros, but buying it at the harbor added another 5. There are no Viking Line offices anymore — everything is online. Still, paying 15 euros for a 20‑hour trip was far cheaper than the 24‑euro ticket for the two‑hour Tallinn–Helsinki route.
I liked the way they priced coffee on the Turku–Stockholm ferry. Normally a cup costs around one euro anywhere in Europe, but there it was two euros — with free refills. Maybe they should just get bigger cups.
Stockholm, however, was the worst place for me to start hitchhiking. I had no city map, and people convinced me to head west from Kungsholmen. When I finally found a motorway, it led north instead of south. Without a Swedish map, it took me a long time to figure this out.
The next morning, while brushing my teeth on the island, I slipped on a wet stone and fell into deep water. I couldn’t climb back up, so I had to swim with all my clothes on until I found a place to get ashore. Naturally, all my papers — and especially the tobacco I had collected — were soaked.
After a few days, I finally found the right place to hitchhike south, though even the local tourist information wasn’t much help. The rumors I had heard turned out to be true: Swedes rarely take hitchhikers. My drivers were Iranian, Albanian and Danish — they were the ones who eventually got me to Copenhagen.
It also became clear why Sweden prefers to keep its own currency. When you convert their prices into euros, the shock is immediate. A simple baguette that normally costs 25–35 cents elsewhere was over one euro. Thankfully, a friendly Swede gave me enough kronor to buy bread and cheese. The money lasted just long enough for those purchases — including two apples, which were extremely expensive.
Copenhagen surprised me as well — they don’t use euros either. Even though there was a big fiesta and carnival going on, I simply found some bushes in Christiania to sleep in and continued the next day. I assumed their beer prices would have been far beyond my budget anyway.
Through Germany, Belgium and Into France
When I finally reached Flensburg, I saw their euro prices for wine. Even though a bottle cost nearly two euros, I had to take it — all other supermarkets were closed due to a holiday, and the prices in Danish kroner had been similar to what a small loaf of bread cost earlier. So I stayed there and drank quite a lot.
The next day, after finally having some decent wine again, I made it quickly to Hamburg. It was the last sunny and warm day I would see for a while. After that, the rain returned and stayed with me for weeks, all the way until I was about 200 kilometers south of Paris two weeks later.
In any German town, the first step is always the same: go to the railway station, get a city map from tourist information, and find the place where the Bahnhofsmission serves free meals. In Hamburg there was a great spot called Café mit Herz on Seewartenstraße 10 (a large complex — you need to find the entrance with the white roof). They offered breakfast with plenty of bread, butter, sausages, salad and coffee, and warm soup between 2 PM and 4 PM. I don’t remember whether they were open on weekends.
In Copenhagen I tried to find something similar, but only found St. Maria Church. They gave a small piece of bread but asked two Danish kroner for coffee or tea. Maybe they had warm meals on weekdays, but I didn’t stay long enough to find out.
I stayed in Hamburg for two days because of the rain. One kind lady gave me five euros when she saw me sleeping under a bridge — a reminder that there are still good people in the world.
My next stop was Dortmund, where I again found places offering breakfast and soup. But as it rained constantly, I had to sleep under a motorway bridge until I could move on toward Belgium and France.
Public libraries in Germany charged money for Internet access, so I couldn’t stay long. It was even more expensive than local Internet cafés — and surprisingly, Germany still had those, just like Spain. In Estonia there aren’t even public phone booths anymore because everyone has a mobile phone.
The cold and rainy weather continued, so I had to stop in several small Belgian villages, taking any chance to get back on the road. Eventually a truck driver picked me up and took me close to Paris, and later a Chinese-looking guy from the Netherlands drove me all the way to the outskirts of the city. He even gave me some money, so for a few days I felt like a rich man in Paris.
Back in Paris, Down to Nîmes and Finally Returning to Barcelona
Even though Paris has many places where you can eat for free, I mostly used the Mother Teresa house on Rue de la Folie-Méricourt 60. They serve a generous breakfast from 9:30 to 11:00 every morning. Later in the day I usually went either to Restos du Cœur on Boulevard Vincent Auriol 58 or to the van near Metro Jaurès, which gives out dinner at 6 PM.
Everywhere I have found a Mother Teresa house, they have always fed people better than any social restaurant. I especially love the Paris one — they often give radishes to take with you, along with bread, salads and other food. They used to have sandwiches as well, though not anymore. Interestingly, the Barcelona house has them again.
In Paris I was lucky to get into a Hackathon event, but without a computer I couldn’t participate or compete for any awards. It was a 20‑hour programming marathon and reminded me of the 1995 World Championship of Programming, where we were also awarded. Still, it was refreshing to be around motivated people after a frustrating winter in Estonia. I hope I can sort out a computer soon so I can join future events — the first prize was 2000 euros, which is far more worthwhile than working for 5–10 dollars or pounds per hour.
Meanwhile, I was invited to the App Circus developers’ day in Barcelona. I hadn’t planned to return so soon, but Paris was cold and rainy, and my sleeping bag — a cheap Chinese one more than a year old — wasn’t keeping me warm anymore.
Buying a new sleeping bag in Paris wasn’t expensive (only 9.95 euros), but the shop didn’t accept PayPal, and I failed to raise the amount on my bank card from Facebook friends. Since it was too cold to sleep in Paris, I had to choose: wait for warmer weather or head back to Barcelona.
It takes a long walk to get out of Paris if you want to reach the southern motorways. This time I was lucky — I found a Paris surroundings map in a trash bin and finally figured out where to catch the A6 toward Lyon. Usually I only managed to find the A10 toward Orléans.
After a full day of walking, I reached the edge of Antony. When I found the first bushes, I opened my sleeping bag and slept there to continue the next day. From the first road leading to the A6, I was soon picked up by the police, who thought the next road would be better and drove me there. When I lit my pipe, another police car stopped, asking what I was smoking. This wasn’t the first time French police assumed pipes were used for something other than tobacco — it happens constantly in France, though never in Barcelona, where I bought the pipe.
It was a total surprise that just two hundred kilometers south of Paris the weather became sunny and warm. When I reached Nîmes the next afternoon, it was around 29°C.
Luckily it was Friday evening, so I managed to reach the SAMU Social van from the Red Cross. They gave me soup, a sandwich and were kind enough to offer bread, ham and pâté for the road. Even after budget cuts, their Adejo center was still open the next morning for coffee, though not much food. Other places open only on weekdays, so I continued toward the motorway.
I didn’t have to wait long — one truck took me to Béziers, which has always been a difficult place for me to get a ride further. This time I ended up at the north entrance, which was actually a “piège” — a trap — leading to another motorway instead of the southern one. I waited six hours until a British driver picked me up. He took me to the last French gas station, another place where I’ve often struggled to get a ride. But he gave me some euros for coffee, so I didn’t mind waiting until I finally got a direct ride to Barcelona.
Thankfully I had his money, because renewing my library card now costs 80 cents — and I also needed to taste some Spanish wine again.
So, even though it wasn’t planned, I am somehow back in Barcelona, thinking and waiting to see what happens next.
