Once again I write to condone and also warn of the dangers of hitching in foreign lands with little prior knowledge or planning.

Firstly let me point out that my most exciting/strangest adventures have resulted from the spontaneity which comes with hitch-hiking. Of course it is the most dangerous way to travel and I think that this following story I am about to recount illustrates both the danger and fun side.

I arrived at a grey and miserable looking Vasteras airport early one morning fresh from a three day travel hiatus at home. I passed immigration, hoisted my backpack onto my back and began walking toward the city.

Ryanair flies to two airports which it claims to be "Stockholm". BE WARNED, both are roughly 100kms from the actual city. Although it would have been simple to take either a train or bus to Stockholm, I figured that it would be much more fun to hitch there, and maybe I would get to see the country a little closer up.

After about an hour I was getting worried. It never usually takes that long to get a lift. I persevered. Three hours later, soaked by the persistant grey drizzle, I gave up using my thumb and took to just walking, my legs starting to feel the strain, and not a single settlement in sight for miles.

My surrounding scenery consisted of dense, dark forest either side of the road, which gave way to monotony rather quickly. Occasionally the trees would clear and a lighter green field may be popualted by a dark brown wooden hut with a maroon roof, which looked rather elegant with its pine backdrop.

No sooner had I given up trying to hitch an elderly lady who spoke Swedish and Polish, pulled over. Sign language and me saying Stockholm over and over seemed to get us somewhere. I threw my bag onto the back seat and we were off. I was just glad that someone had finally stopped, and was naive enough to just jump in without thinking.

We turned away from the Stockholm road quite quickly after that, up north towards Uppsala. I had a decent knowledge of the roads and knew that we were not going to be able to get on another road towards Stockholm now. We could not converse. I began to think there had been a gross error of judgement on my part.

Things seemed to take a turn for the worse when we left the main road for a small track, then turned onto a dirt track. This was not Stockholm, I had seen photos, it was surely bigger!

My panic must have been evident, as the little old lady spoke sweetly in an alien tongue. She could have been saying 'don't worry', or 'I am going to eat you later' and I would have had no idea, all I could think was that I was headin' for a beheadin'.

The car pulled up at a large, old house. The lady got out, I remained rooted to my seat. She opened the car boot, then my door, then motioned me to the boot. I was reluctant to get in. Then on closer inspection I saw that it was filled with groceries. She wanted me to unload the car...I think! I had never wanted to be back in the forest, surrounded by nothing but wood and leaf for miles around, more in my life.

I unloaded the car, then was told to sit down and given some food. My nerves were calmed a little, but then I thought 'she is probably just fattening me up'.

When I think about it now it does seem irrational, but I really didn't think that misunderstandings between two languages could go so wrong. At what point did this lady think that me asking for a lift to Stockholm meant 'take me back to your house in the middle of nowhere and make me unload food from your car'. Evidently pigeons can speak better Swedish than me.

It was not until a few hours later that one of her friends came over. A friend who spoke English. Thank God!!! She explained to me that the eldery lady owned a garden centre out behind the house. She was going to Uppsala, a beautiful old city north of Stockholm in the morning to sell flowers. I could stay in the house and then get a lift there with her on one condition; I had to help her with the gardening and flower preparation that evening.

So , on the first night of my 7 week hike around Europe I found myself preening and potting plants for a flower sale. I was just glad to be preening the flowers rather than being added to them as fertiliser.

Although Uppsala, the city we were heading for, was not Stockholm, it was well worth the detour. I saw the tombs of some of the ancient Viking rulers in Gamla Uppsala, and was a free man once again, albeit with slightly greener fingers.

By Paul Stafford