Nice and Lyon: One long trust fall

In these last few weeks of travel, my lack of constant companionship has engendered a desultory collection of responses, from something resembling admiration and respect to unadulterated surprise and thinly veiled suspicion (that I’m not entirely right, you know, mentally). Many remark on the dangers that traveling alone may invite—in particularly, people with ill intentions who may take advantage of a young lady traversing the world alone.

Yet, of all the things we put our trust in—companies and organizations, structures and transportation, brochures and what we read on the internet—I can’t help but feel as though the average stranger you meet on the street is less likely to disappoint you, all things considered.

I set out from Florence to Lyon on September 9^th. The first of the four trains I was meant to take was delayed 40 minutes, thereby causing me to miss every other domino in the delicate line-up… including the day’s last train to Lyon. I arrived in Nice tired and fully expecting to be camping out at the station. I inquired with the ticket office about tickets, and was informed that the station would close at 12; if I slept there, it would be outside the doors.

As I made my way toward the exit, one of a group of three guys called out to me: what followed was a string of apologies for overhearing, an invitation to get a hotel room together, and then explanation of being gay and not wanting to be creepy and apologies again. In short: three young American men I’d never met before inviting me to share a hotel room for the night in a city where I knew no one in a country that wasn’t my own and spoke a language I didn’t know.

I said yes.

And you know what? It was fine. Great, in fact. So much better than trying to make due with a park bench or a place against the closed train station. We got a cramped room with one single and one double bed (they gave me the single) for 15 euros each, with a bathroom door that not only didn’t lock; it didn’t even quite close all the way.  But it was fine. We dropped off our bags, had dinner together at a late-night kebab place, shared stories and experiences, and slept soundly in our crowded room.

As one of the guys revealed the issue with the bathroom door, I commented, jokingly, that this experience was like one giant trust fall. One of the other guys said that was an apt analogy.

—And thinking on it, I realize that the best times of my life have kind of been trust falls. Deciding to move to cities where I didn’t know anyone, sharing secrets and deep emotions with friends, even joining Peace Corps—trusting they would take care of me and send me some place where I could reach my goals and be happy… my life has become one long trust fall.

I trust three strangers in a hotel room in a city in France to show me respect and kindness, and they do. I trust a friend I haven’t seen in over three years to find me at the train station in Lyon and take me to a place I can sleep unharmed, and he does. I trust a guy I’ve only known online to shelter me and feed me, and he does.

There are people out there with ill intentions, sure, but whenever I’ve fallen, I’ve always been caught. Of course I try to be cautious, but too often people let their cautiousness prevent them from taking a chance, and experience the world outside their comfort zone and miss a great opportunity or amazing adventure. I don’t want that.

And I think, even more, I don’t want to be the kind of person who mistrusts a stranger for no other reason than that. I don’t want to believe that people are inherently evil or mean or selfish—because in my experience, they’re not (and at this point, I’ve had a lot of experiences!). I want to trust the goodness of humanity. I want to believe people are good. I want to give opportunities for kindness.

I want to trust that if I fall, someone will catch me.