In May 2025, between a new contract and starting the job, I had two and a half weeks free. I rented a camper with a friend, drove through the Dolomites and down the Mediterranean coast, dropped the car in Seville, and then started hitchhiking from Tarifa — Europe's southernmost point — to Cabo da Roca in Portugal, the westernmost point, and then all the way home to Cologne.
The Dolomites
We picked up the camper in Stuttgart and drove straight to the Dolomites. Two nights at Pragser Wildsee — one of the most beautiful lakes I have ever seen. On the first day we tried to reach the Plätzwiese plateau by bus, but construction blocked the road. We ignored the signs, drove through anyway, and arrived at a deserted alpine hut at two degrees with light snow falling. Worth every kilometre of questionable decision-making. The second day ended with a drone rescue — my drone ended up over the lake, battery dying. I jumped in wearing only underwear to get it. The water was glacial. The drone survived.
Lago di Misurina and Lake Iseo
After two nights at Pragser Wildsee we moved to Lago di Misurina — stunning setting, minus two degrees overnight, neither of us had prepared for that. We froze. The next morning we drove to Lake Iseo instead of Lake Garda — a deliberate choice. Lake Garda in May feels like half of Germany decided to take the same holiday. Lake Iseo was quiet, warm, and exactly right.
Milan and onwards
I dropped my friend in Milan and continued alone. The first detour was non-negotiable: Monaco. I am a serious Formula 1 fan, and the race was the following weekend — meaning 80% of the circuit was still open to normal traffic. I drove every metre of it with the biggest grin of the trip. Marshals were setting up barriers on both sides. Did I film it? Yes. Did a policeman politely ask me to stop filming? Maybe. Along the Mediterranean coast toward Montpellier. I drove through the Var region — a few hours later a storm hit and killed three people. I didn't know until I checked my phone that evening. Slept in a leaking camper near Valencia, swam in the Mediterranean in the morning, and made it to Seville.
Gibraltar and the monkeys
After dropping the car in Seville I hitchhiked to Algeciras, then took the bus to Gibraltar. The following day I hiked up the Rock with the Barbary macaques — they will steal anything not nailed down.
Tarifa
After the hike I took a bus to Tarifa. I arrived at the beach in the evening, dropped my rucksack, and watched the kitesurfers for a while — there are always kitesurfers at Tarifa, the wind never stops. It was a good last evening before the return. Quiet, warm, the African coast just visible across the strait. The next morning, the hitchhike began.
Cádiz and day one hitchhiking
First day of hitchhiking only got me to Cádiz. While waiting in the heat, an American picked me up on his moped — no helmet, 100km/h on the highway, my rucksack between us. That evening, dinner was cashews and cranberries because everything else was closed. About 100 km.
Cabo da Roca
It turned out that my route along the coast past Cádiz was the wrong choice — after more than three hours of waiting I took a taxi to the A381 without gaining any distance. After a rough morning the situation changed fast. A man stopped who turned out to be going to southern Portugal — completely the right direction. I made it to the Algarve coast and a bit further north that evening. On day three I continued north to Cabo da Roca, Europe's westernmost point. Howling wind, cliffs dropping straight into the Atlantic. The same day I made it halfway back to Lisbon to a petrol station. The tent barely held through the night. About 650 km over the two days.
Northern Portugal — Egis
After another slow start and difficulties getting out of Lisbon, I met Egis two hours north of the city — a Lithuanian truck driver heading north. He spoke six languages. He had started his shift in Lisbon and our journey began at 4PM local time. With the time change at the Spanish border it became 5PM — pretty late for what lay ahead. At first I only knew he was going to Spain, but it turned out he wanted to reach the French border that night. For me that meant 953km in one day — a personal record I will probably never break. We drove through the night and reached the French border at 3:30AM. I couldn't find a spot to sleep so I turned the front seats of his truck into a bed, with a cooling box filling the gap between the seats.
Ronja and the campfire
I woke up somewhere near Ametzague in southwestern France. A woman named Ronja stopped — she didn't want to take me far, just to the next town. I signalled that was fine, just the highway on-ramp would do. She changed her mind and took me further. We exchanged contacts when she dropped me off. A while later she texted — she was heading to Bordeaux and offered to pick me up again. I said yes. In Bordeaux she introduced me to her parents. They were on their way home to Switzerland and stopping for the night in Abzac, a small village on a river in southwestern France. They invited me to join them for the evening: a campfire by the river, a proper dinner, their dog. Complete strangers treating you like family. That is the best version of hitchhiking. The next morning Ronja drove me from Abzac to a petrol station near Saint-Pantaléon-de-Larche to get me back on the road. About 280 km.
Home
After being dropped off I made it to Paris that day. The woman who brought me the last bit was heading north of the city — she made a five minute detour to drop me at a petrol station where I spent the night.
Friday, the last day, it went smoothly from the start. It was never a question of if, only when. The answer: 17:30, Cologne. About 1,120 km over the last two days.
The whole route
Tarifa to Cologne in seven days: five countries and about 3,000 km hitchhiked — from Europe's southernmost point to its westernmost, and home.
The kindest moments: Ronja and her parents taking me in for an evening by the river, Egis driving me 953 km through the night, and the woman near Paris who made a detour to drop me at a good petrol station. The turning point: the rough second morning — more than three hours of waiting and a taxi without gaining any distance, until one driver going to southern Portugal turned everything around.
What I learned on this route: the coast road isn't always the right choice — past Cádiz it cost me a morning. And when a driver is going far, say yes, even if it means driving through the night.
Challenge completed: from the North Cape to Tarifa, Europe's northernmost point to its southernmost — crossed just by hitchhiking. In theory it's easy: all it takes is a thumb, a sign and a bit of patience.
And still, something felt missing. On my map the whole southeast of Europe was empty — the Balkans, the road to Istanbul. That gap became my last big trip: Milan → Cappadocia.