CHAPTER 1

EVEN BASIC NEEDSAREN'T FREE

It is the 21st of June, which means it is officially the summer solstice,and the longest day of the year. I can actually feel this all over mybody. For more than three hours, I have been standing at a freewayexit trying to continue my journey toward Cologne. Thinking of the25,000 miles I still have yet to cover, it's hard to imagine that fivemonths from now I will actually set foot in Antarctica—the end ofthe world, as my friends say—without having a single penny in mypocket.

It may be the longest day of the year, but it also feels like the hottestone, and that, plus the heavy bag on my back, make the sweat pourdown my overheated body like a nasty waterfall. The sun is laughingat me; the cars that pass by also, somehow, snicker with amusement—I'mhitchhiking with a sign on my back that reads The End of theWorld! so that probably has something to do with it. But none of thisbothers me since my mind is already far, far away in Antarctica.

At some point, what I count as the 2,420th car whooshes pastme. You see, I have noted that eleven cars drive past me about everyminute, which totals to 2,420 cars in exactly 220 minutes—amazinghow the mind can amuse itself in the heat. If one is optimistic enoughto believe what Lonely Planet says about Germany being a hitchhiker-friendlycountry, then one will likely wait for as long as I have beenwaiting.

Discouraged and soaked with my own perspiration, my Antarcticvisions completely dashed, I am just about to give up and call it a daywhen a red van pulls up. The driver's side window rolls down and agrumbling voice calls out, "Need a ride?"

Arndt and Marius are returning from a convention of Leftists inBerlin. I now sit in the backseat telling them about my crazy plan ofreaching Antarctica without a single cent in my pocket. However, as Italk, I realize that I am in desperate need of relief—after being in thesun all day, you'd think that I would be severely dehydrated, not needingto relieve excess liquids, but my bladder is calling and Marius iskind enough to make a pit stop in my honor. I run as fast as I can tothe public toilet, only to be blocked by a gate with a sign that reads:50 CENTS.

Before starting this trip, I had thought of all the possible scenariosthat might require money and how to get around them, but I have toadmit that this is one I didn't take into consideration at all. Somethinglike this should be free anyway, shouldn't it? Desperate, I try charmingthe toilet attendant—not as easy a task as it may sound. I tell her thatI have no money, that this is an emergency, and if she could just find itin her heart to let me pass through just this once, just this one time, myappreciation would be boundless.

"Get a job," is her response.

Knowing that there is no way to convince her, I instead find a fewnice bushes around the corner. When I get back to the van, I tell Arndtand Marius about my little ... situation. They are both fired up afterthat Leftist convention and promptly compare my problem to that ofsociety's class struggles. "You wouldn't find anything like this in socialism!"rants Marius. He's probably right, actually. Maybe socialism isn'tso bad after all ...

Finally, we reach the first stop on my trip: Cologne, the city inwhich I lived and worked for six years. From here, the plan is to travelto Belgium, where a container ship is waiting to take me across toCanada. Since the ship won't set sail for five days, I can make use of thistime to visit some old friends. However, I'm not completely withoutulterior motives: I'm hoping to have a free place to crash for the nextfew nights.

My friend Hardy lives with his girlfriend in a perfectly pleasantgarden bungalow near the edge of the city, and when I ring his doorbell,I am greeted warmly and immediately offered a comfy couch tostay on—an offer I swiftly accept. As I tell him about my first day, mystomach starts to audibly growl, but Hardy's refrigerator is as empty asmy stomach.

We both start wondering where we can get something to eat atthis late hour. Now, luckily, some supermarkets in Cologne are stillopen in the late evening, which is a simple solution if you have money.However, I'm not traveling with any whatsoever, and don't want to asktoo much of Hardy's hospitality, so I have another idea: Dumpster divingit is, then.

A humble act of foraging, which apparently originated in theUnited States, Dumpster diving is new to Germany and involves getting—quiteliterally—down and dirty as you search for food in a supermarket'sDumpsters. The food is often perfectly edible, but isn'tsellable either due to its expiration date or its not-entirely-appetizingappearance.

So I take the local train downtown, which is free for me but whichstill requires a ticket. (Like in many German cities, public transportationin Cologne allows students and workers with a monthly ticket totake another person along on their pass free of charge, but only afterseven in the evening.) Since most stores in the city are closed by now,it will be the perfect time for my ... shopping expedition. I set off forthe largest supermarket near the city's park, almost more curious thanhungry to see if Dumpster diving is possible here in Cologne.

Tiptoeing like a burglar and armed with just a flashlight and someplastic bags, I sneak around the building and stand in front of the gateby the supermarket's courtyard. From there I can see...