Even the most experienced traveler needs to rely on strangers once in a while.
During time spent traveling, it is possible to hone your kindness radar: you learn over time what sort of people to ask for directions, when to be sure they haven’t a clue what they’re talking about, and when to trust some sort of inner compass that 90% of the time leads you in the right direction.
Overlooking the Rhine River on a misty October day.
So next time you’re traveling, rather than being the person standing in the city square with a big map and confused look on your face, ask somebody for directions. The first time I was asked for directions, I was in the leafy neighborhood of Ballsbridge, outside the center of Dublin. I had just moved over, was only beginning to explore the city myself – but a student asked me which direction the American embassy was, and I knew. It was strange to be the person being asked, and not the asker – but it also felt great (after a year of not knowing where I was going..) to point her in the right direction.
My first year in Europe was filled with moments that revealed the kindness of strangers – the kind of moments that make even us northeastern-New-Yorker-types a bit less cynical. Selflessly helping others can be a pleasure in itself. This concept may have eroded over time, but that’s one of the things travel does best: it reminds us of things the daily grind has weathered away.
Once in a while, I’ll feature just how the generosity of strangers made a difference to two girls wandering the continent. Here’s the first one:
Bacharach, Germany: A chill had just arrived in the October air in Germany’s Rhine Valley. One evening, after a day of hiking and observing the harvest, I was seated in a beautiful beer garden in the center of town. Worn wooden furniture was spread haphazardly over matted down grass, and one charismatic waiter was taking care of the few customers.
After introducing ourselves, the waiter could see we wanted to taste the wines of the region. He arranged an affordable wine flight, to share with us his love of local wines. And while this act was kind, what I remember best is the two women who walked through the door next.
Two American women walked into the restaurant, and after hearing English in a sea of German speakers, we invited them to join us. They ordered a similar wine flight, and we discussed backpacking, Germany, the harvest, and encountering Americans abroad. Tasting many varieties of wine, we shared stories from our journey, the women gave advice they learned over years of travel, and we had lots of laughs.
After the wine, we accepted an invitation to dinner. Sitting down to a table in a nearby restaurant, next to the warmth of a hearth, we ate a rich, satisfying German meal, thanks to the generosity of our new friends. They told us to order whatever we’d like: a welcome change for the backpacker who consistently orders soup and maybe a side dish.
Before leaving that night, the two women made us promise to do the same sometime in the future – when we had the money, when we encountered two young travelers on the road, to provide them with an evening away from backpacking, an evening to feel at home and relaxed over a meal.
I’m not quite there yet, but someday, I’ll do the same for two young backpackers taking their first steps into Europe.
