One thing I can reasonably claim about myself is that I am fairly well traveled, thanks largely to my parents, but also as the result of travel on my own, with my husband, and for work. I suppose you could say I’ve accumulated a bit of culture over the years, beginning in childhood. Among other things and in no particular order, I have admired the view of Paris from high in the Eiffel Tower, climbed the Leaning Tower of Pisa, speculated on the origins of Stonehenge at its feet, marveled at the construction of the Great Pyramids of Egypt, sat in the Roman Colosseum, wandered the ruins of Pompeii, stared in wonder at the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel, and examined up close and personal many of Western Civilization’s great works of art and sculpture in museums throughout Europe. And there are so many other sights and memories that I am leaving out. Some of them, I wish I had appreciated more at the time. I have visited so far in my lifetime Spain, Mexico, France, Italy, Vatican City, Tunisia, Germany, Austria, Switzerland, Monaco, England, and Egypt. Several more than once. Plus a handful of Caribbean island nations interspersed on a few cruises. It would not be exaggerating to say that I’ve traveled more extensively internationally than within my own country. And yet there is so much more I would love to see, both here and abroad.
Most of my travel memories are fond ones. But there was that one harrowing experience aboard a train in Switzerland. It was the summer after I graduated from college, when I spent three weeks backpacking, solo, through Europe. I no longer recall my point of origin or final destination, but I clearly remember being alone in a train compartment when an older gentleman entered. I still remember his white tufts of hair and his somewhat short stature. This harmless looking, beret wearing, grandfatherly old man came in with his newspaper, sat down, and began speaking to me in German. Since I only speak English and hardly enough Spanish to get by, it was difficult at first, but through gestures and a few words in common, we managed to make a little polite conversation. He wanted to know where I was heading, so I told him. Then, he moved closer to me and began rubbing my back. This was more than a little unusual and way outside my scope of personal travel experiences! I had no idea what his intentions were, but I didn’t plan to stick around to find out. The train had not yet left the station, so I got up to grab my backpack. He tried to stop me. I wrestled my backpack down from the overhead rack anyway, then he tried to block me from leaving. By this time I was truly frightened. I managed to slip past him and exit the train, reboarding another car. I wanted to find a compartment where I would not be alone, but they were either empty or completely full. So, heart racing, I chose an empty berth, closed the door, and drew the curtains, hoping he would not find me. I saw what appeared to be his shadow walk by a couple of times, then he was gone for good. Or so I thought.
When the train arrived at my destination, I gathered my belongings, only to discover his silhouette beyond the curtain covering the door. He was standing right outside my compartment! Waiting for me? I didn’t know what to do. Should I stay where I was and go on to the next stop, or get off as planned and hope people would respond when I screamed if he tried anything? I was paralyzed with indecision (a common state of mind for me), but finally chose to get off since there were plenty of people around. I didn’t make eye contact, though he followed me at first and tried to talk to me. Again, I couldn’t understand because of the language barrier, but I gathered he was just trying to make sure I knew it was my stop. Then he went on his way.
I always wondered if he really was a dirty old man or if I simply misunderstood. I do enjoy my personal space, but I know Europeans are less concerned about such things in general than Americans. They are a touching, hugging, cheek-kissing bunch. At least the Spaniards are. I know, because I’m directly related to some of them. So maybe he was just a nice guy trying to help a girl traveling alone in a country where she didn’t speak the language. If so, did I offend him with my hasty retreat? Maybe he only wanted to detain me long enough to restore his good name. Or maybe I’m naively too eager to always give the benefit of the doubt. But as that girl traveling alone, there’s no way I was going to leave myself in any situation that made me uncomfortable. I’d have been stupid if I had.
