Hometown Boys

This is one story in a series of stories that tell about a backpack trip to Europe in the spring of 1976 by myself in an effort to run away from the pain of a broken heart. (To read from the beginning Google "The Ramblings of an Aging Baby Boomer" and go back to March 27th, "I'll Never Find Love Again.")

Sunday, March 28, 1976

It hit me while I was standing in line to board the plane to Luxembourg. What am I doing? It felt like I had stepped on top of a live wire; my body was vibrating and I couldn't self-talk myself to calm. The realization of what I was doing had set in just minutes away from being too late to turn back.  I was thinking I could turn back now. I shouldn't be traveling by myself. What if I run out of money? What if I get in trouble? I can't speak any foreign language. 

Eventually calm did return and I decided not to abort at the last minute. I am going to backpack my way through Europe, spend the days sightseeing, stay some nights in hostels and some nights sleeping on the trains as they take me from one place to another, eat one meal a day, and most importantly I am going to forget about him.

My anxiety returned when the announcement was made that our flight would be delayed indefinitely due to a mechanical issue with the airplane. Everyone in line scattered in all directions, except me. The unexpected delay paralyzed me. Where would I go? What would I do in a cavernous airport with hours and hours of idle?  I had brought my journal so I could write but I didn't think to bring a book. Big mistake. In the distance I noticed the two men who had been in line in front of me walking fast and with specific intent. Where were they going? Did they know something the rest of us stranded travelers didn't?  I hurried to catch up with them just in case they were on to something. Uncertainty and doubt set in again. What was I doing here? If I was this unnerved over a flight delay, how am I going to cope with what is waiting for me in a strange land so far from home?

The room had two long rows of metal chairs, each one holding a small television for pay. Even though I had no interest in talking to them, I found a chair directly behind the two men I was following. There was comfort in having them nearby. I felt so alone and vulnerable. I put one quarter in my television but nothing happened. Since money is scarce, I didn't want to try again and fail again. That's when one of the two men turned around as if he knew I needed help, introduced himself as Charles, leaned over my chair and fiddled with something to make the T.V. work. One thing led to another and before long, Charles and his friend, Willem, and I were back in line together waiting to board the now-repaired airplane. The big surprise was that they are also from Indy--my hometown--and their agenda is identical to mine: Luxembourg, Paris, Barcelona, Nice (Monaco), Rome, Florence, Venice, Innsbruck, Vienna, Salzburg, Frankfort, Amsterdam, and back to Luxembourg.

"A girl should not be traveling around Europe by herself," Willem said while we were standing in line to board the plane. "If you want to, you can travel with us. We'll be your tour guides and bodyguards."

Sounds good, but I think I want to do this on my own.

Willem and Charles

Hometown boys