USA News

What I Learned From Backpacking Europe Alone At 57


I always dreamed of backpacking Europe as a child. My favorite magazine was National Geographic, which I would race to the mailbox to get before Dad did, so I could read it cover to cover. I saved my money and had enough to live out this dream when my high school graduation came around at 17.Instead, I married and started my beautiful family. Rather than backpacking along the Seine, I worked in a record store and attended junior college. The next 40 years flew by, and I haven’t been able to shake my dream. Last year, I finally decided I would revisit the old articles, notes and ideas of places, foods and museums I wanted to experience. I felt that since I had a family so young in life, I missed out on seeing the world while working, studying and running a successful business. There was never enough money left over to travel overseas. Vacation was a weekend at Disneyland, a local museum or a half day in a city I was visiting for work. It was now or never.In 2018 at 57, I decided to pack my old Jansport backpack and travel by train across France, Spain and Portugal. Some of my family thought I had finally lost my mind. My daughter and son were excited for my adventures, and I was excited at the prospect of traveling to exotic places with no one else to distract me from absorbing all the sights, food and culture. I wanted to learn Flamenco in Sevilla and the Charleston in Paris. I did both! A few years earlier, I had set out on a cross-country road trip alone using the Couchsurfing app. I met so many people who were helpful and showed me parts of their towns I would never have seen as just another tourist in a motel. I learned that fear of the unknown can be overcome if you are confident you have prepared and are aware of your surroundings. “I learned that fear of the unknown can be overcome if you are confident you have prepared and are aware of your surroundings.”I decided to take only a normal backpack and spent weeks having my daughter take out a scale so I could weigh each possible permutation of clothes, toiletries and medication. I figured the backpack, although weighty, would be easier to wrangle than wheeled luggage up Metro stairs, down cobblestone streets, up seven flights to a Paris apartment and onto crowded buses. It had the added benefit of being a weight-bearing exercise and possible shield against unexpected trouble.I was going to start in Paris for a week but extended my stay to meet up with a college friend from Mumbai. I did a combination of Airbnb and hotels, and I planned my lodging loosely and not more than a week or two in advance. If I couldn’t find a great Airbnb share, I would book a hotel for a night or two until I could find one. I had originally planned a monthlong adventure, and I purchased a one-way flight to Paris. But with my Eurorail pass, I was able to travel to Spain and Portugal before going back to Paris and then returning home.I never felt in danger in Barcelona, which has a reputation as a pickpocket’s paradise. I had small padlocks on my mini-backpack as well as on all the zippers of my full-size pack. I wore shorts with hidden pockets, drank only an occasional glass of wine with meals and kept large bills separate from small. I didn’t venture out far after dark and kept a keen eye on my surroundings. I did meet some thoughtful locals who offered directions and help with quirky Metro ticket machines. I knew there were good people in the world, and I just needed to experience it more.Paris was a reintroduction to fast, pungent and glorious culture. I walked for many miles each day and felt the weight of my backpack each time I changed lodgings and had to traverse the city while sightseeing wearing my extra 25 pounds. At home, I consider myself an intentionalist, which is a sort of reformed minimalist. When your backpack arrives in Paris with you already nine-tenths full, you don’t get to cram it full of souvenirs. I quickly learned to enjoy the things I saw without attachment or the need to bring Paris home with me except in my heart and memories. This continued in all the wonderful places I visited in my 11 weeks.I learned to trust myself and made a point of noting streets, landmarks and neighborhoods versus relying on my phone for directions. I wasn’t shy about asking for directions, dining alone or sharing a table in a crowded cafe. I became much more confident in my French and Spanish, even if they were a shambles. I found people understood my efforts and intentions and wild, waving gestures.“Through my negotiations in packing, I started to have a deeper understanding of the burdens we carry that sometimes are best left behind.”Most of my wardrobe had consisted of travel shorts, a silk skirt, Levi’s and T-shirts. I started adding and subtracting to suit the weather and my environment. I bought a French soccer tee and ditched my plain American one. In Spain, I bought a swimsuit and a blouse and ditched another plain tee. I carried, or should I say lugged, my cowboy boots in order to wear them for one week of polo in Spain. In hindsight, I would reconsider that footwear choice.Through my negotiations in packing, I started to have a deeper understanding of the burdens we carry that sometimes are best left behind. I forgave myself for choices my younger self made that older me would never have made. I began to release a lifetime of guilt and anger over opportunity lost, realizing every single choice made me the responsible, appreciative adult I have become.By the time I reached Portugal, my home in Colorado was in the path of a massive wildfire moving fast. I could only be supportive long distance as my daughter moved horses to safety and packed for a possible evacuation. I felt a weird sense of calm knowing I had to release all attachment to my belongings and my home. I believe that being on the road with my backpack helped me accept that hard possibility. I felt freer knowing I could live with whatever happened to my material world, knowing that we would be OK. The fire finally was controlled less than five miles from our ranch before I returned home.They say travel changes the person. That is my truth. I am now even more trusting of my own decisions and question when someone else may be pushing their own agenda. I embrace the cultural differences as part of the rich fabric of life, and I am a more tolerant, even embracing, person because of it. I know that missing a train isn’t the end of the world or even worth getting upset over. Life has a way of moving at its own pace.Have a compelling first-person story you want to share? Send your story description to pitch@huffpost.com.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *