This week’s guest post on 501 Places is written by Gwen McCauley. A Canadian who fell in love with Portugal on her first visit to Europe in 1975, Gwen has more recently made the country her second home. Here she shares a story from that first trip with us and describes the moment where she realised she was going to be a lifelong traveller.
This old memory remains a favourite, showing how life’s miserable travel experiences can become our best stories and fun memories.
Light mist on the hills
I was 26 in 1975, traveling alone and in Europe for the first time. I was as unsophisticated as they come: green as grass! It is hard today to realize just how different travel was then. Travel guides were few; blogs, websites and today’s flood of information didn’t exist. No credit cards. Even simple travel was an adventure. My quest was to spend a month in a country where I knew not a soul, didn’t know the language or currency and had no real way of connecting with anyone back home. I was proving myself to myself.
So here I was, two weeks into my trip in the little resort town of Sesimbra, and it was time to head to the Algarve by train. Remember, hardly anybody spoke English and I spoke no Portuguese. Somehow my desk clerk made me realize I had to be up at 4 a.m. to take a bus to get me to the train.
Our bus rambled down narrow roads in the dark, twisting and turning and finally heading into thick dark fog. After about 2 hours we got to town. The bus driver pointed me down a small street where I’d find a station several blocks away. Sure enough I discovered a tiny ticket booth.
Foggy hills fade into the distance
I showed the teller my itinerary with my Algarve destination. “No, no, no” she insisted with an emphatic wag of her finger. She pointed out into the fog and sent me on my way. About 10 minutes later, in fog so thick that I could barely make out the other side of the street, I knew I was lost. Being an enterprising sort, I noticed a cop directing traffic and asked him where the train station was. He pointed me back in the direction I’d come from. So I trudged dutifully back, got in line and received a puzzled frown from the agent. “No, no, no” she wagged again and sent me back off. I got a little further in the dark and fog but still couldn’t find a station. At this point I began to feel panic. It was dark, I was cold and tired and feeling dreadfully alone. The streets were filling up with people on their way to work and I unsuccessfully asked a few well-dressed men for help.
I began to think I wasn’t up for this adventure travel business, that I should wait for the fog to clear, hop the bus back to Lisbon and stay in the city for the rest of my trip, safe but knowing that travel wasn’t for me. Suddenly I became indignant; my spine stiffened. I decided I wasn’t about to be defeated by darkness, fog nor lack of language.
As I stood on that street corner, I noticed some schoolboys. In Lisbon I’d often heard young men dressed like this practicing their English. So I approached them to discover they spoke “A few words”, which actually was quite a lot! They assured me that the little train booth was my best option.
Trees and farmhouse disappear into the mist
So, armed with this help, I headed back –again! This time the exasperated agent sighed deeply and sold me a 5¢ ticket. Before long a single, tiny railcar arrived. The agent told me to get on and then followed. In 5 minutes we arrived at a large station where she signaled me to get off. After getting myself oriented I stepped up to a booth, laughing when I discovered the same clerk was there to serve me! At least I didn’t have to tell her where I was headed. I got my ticket then wandered out on the platform.
By this time the fog had lifted, the sun was shining but I was completely uncertain that I was on the right platform: Portuguese signs, of course. I spied a couple of very blond folks with backpacks, hoping they were British. Turned out they were Aussies heading for Faro who assured me I was in the right spot, so I relaxed and we chatted until the train arrived.
Those few moments of connecting with people I could talk readily with completely restored my equilibrium. And that one-hour experience of being ‘lost in the fog’ showed me that by remaining calm and using the small lessons I’d learned I’d get my needs met.
So here’s to fog and other travails of travel. They really teach us so very much! And they call up the true traveler in us.
Gwen McCauley is a Canadian Life Transition Coach, author, artist and facilitator of secular retreats and culinary experiences in the Algarve, Portugal. You can learn more about off-the-beaten-track Algarve from her two blogs: http://algarveexperiences.com and http://myalgarve.wordpress.com. Follow Gwen on Twitter
Lovely post Gwen, and it brings me back to my first travel experiences. In the recent years, everything has become easier: lots of information, more people speaking English, better transportation and organization. But back in the ’70s and 80′s things were much different and even a simple journey by train could easily and quickly transform in an adventure, as it happened to you in Algarve.