And in France recently, an elderly man who got on at the same station as I did obviously thought I knew what I was doing, because he latched himself on to me and did whatever I indicated. I kept my mouth shut most of the time, so he never realised I was just as ignorant as he was, and he got to his destination all right.
He reminded me that I hadn’t “composted” my ticket. This does not entail tearing it up and putting it in a recycling bin: it means getting it date-stamped on the platform.
To avoid a large fine, I decided to throw myself on the mercy of the ticket-collector. When I said I was from New Zealand, she realised that a person from such an outlandish place couldn’t be expected to behave in a rational French way, so she stamped it for me.
When you utter the magic words “New Zealand”, people are usually so flattered that you’ve come all that way just to see them that they forgive you almost anything.
Even if they don’t start a conversation, people are happy to help if you’re looking lost.
In Lyon, I reached a corner and pulled out my map. A man offered to help. I told him the name of the bridge I was looking for, and he pointed.
“The bridge”, he said, “is over there.”
He turned and pointed in the opposite direction.
“And the river is over there.”
Just as I was trying to reconcile these conflicting directions, he added helpfully, “It’s a long way.”
I thanked him profusely, and he walked off, pleased at having done his bit for international relations.
Actually the bridge was, very sensibly, in the same place as the river, and it was only a few minutes’ walk.
Being over 65 and not particularly muscle-bound does make people think you’re rather infirm, in body if not in mind.
In Verona I asked a young student the way to a second-hand bookshop in the area, and he was very alarmed at the thought of my attempting such a journey.
He tried to persuade me to visit one near the city centre (it would, of course, be near medical attention if I collapsed from exhaustion), but I insisted. In the end he reluctantly indicated that I should turn right and then go on, and on, indicating a long trek through the wilderness, during which time I was obviously going to succumb to dehydration or blisters, or worse. Needless to say, it was only a few hundred metres.
This impression, though, can be an advantage. If you get on a train and find that the luggage compartment is full apart from the higher shelves, you only need to stand for a moment looking indecisive and a young man will leap up and put it up for you. If you’re lucky, he’ll still be on the train when you need to get it down again.
Of course, it’s much better to have a companion when you want to exclaim at something magnificent, or laugh at something ridiculous, or explore somewhere doubtful. That’s why I often try to coincide with friends or family somewhere.
But don’t be put off by the thought of spending some of your trip on your own, you may find it a refreshing experience.
