I’m Just a Girl in the World

Junior year in College! I was going to be a student in a foreign country. Before the semester started, all the students ( which were all girls) had seminars to prepare us for the summer preceding our university stint. We were allowed to travel wherever we wanted, encouraged to avoid certain places, and had to meet up for a seminar in a particular place where accommodations had been made for us.

I was all set to go with a friend of mine. We chose our semester in Spain at the University of Madrid.

While in Europe, whether at our chosen place to study or traveling, we were given assignments to fulfill. We were evaluated for how well we had accomplished those assignments when we came home. They basically encompassed language, art and culture, and the system of education.

The stops for seminars were Amsterdam and Stockholm. How exciting is that! I never saw a purpose for those “seminars” but it was nice to touch base with everyone before our independent study.

All geared up to go, my friend, my traveling buddy, became ill and needed emergency surgery. All would have been fine, but during the operation, a physician’s error caused additional injury, and she was told she couldn’t go at all! I was, of course, upset for her, but I was petrified for myself!

I knew the other girls, but not well. I asked them if I could hang out with them in different places and tried to see whose itinerary matched mine. No one said no, but they weren’t pleased. For the most part, the group was very “cliquish.” There were a few loners, like myself, and there was only one place where I would be totally alone: Oslo! I promised my parents I would be fine and they permitted me to go! The adventure began on a transatlantic ship, something I’m not sure they still have today. It was not a cruise, and there was no entertainment or special nights or activities. There was a game room for board games and cards, a library, and a deck to walk or run if you desired.

It was an adventure of a lifetime and absolutely changed my life, for better or worse. A lot of those adventures find their way into my novels. Well, aspects of those adventures. When I recollect these times, I am amazed that my parents permitted me to go and that I came back and just resumed the “normal” life I had previously. I look at my granddaughters and can’t imagine them doing what I did at that age. The world changes and changes rapidly. Perhaps it is less about the world and more about the hindsight of knowing better.

The seminars on board the ship were ridiculous. I remember one older chaperone who came with us and spoke for 20 minutes or more about having a white and black girdle! We certainly knew what a girdle was, but I believe none of us wore one.

The boat allowed me to get to know some of the other students I had never spoken to. I felt better as I secured ( at least I thought I did) assurances that I wouldn’t be alone. Except for Oslo.

The ship docked in Le Havre, France, and we were taken by bus, about a 2-hour trip to Paris. I had two major goals for Paris. I wanted to see the Louvre ( get some of the art assignment done) and the Eiffel Tower. Of course, I had many secondary goals, but those two were a must.

I didn’t speak French. At the time I was there, it was quite obvious that many people spoke English, but they didn’t want to. Being a young female made my life easier. A smile and acting helpless went a long way. Although we all stayed at the same hotel, the other gilrs didn’t hang out with me. At best, I could tag along. As I already said, I wasn’t the only odd duck. I found another student who spoke fluent French, and we decided to hang out together. On the first free day, she and I went to a French salon to have our hair done! They wouldn’t have paid any attention to me, if I tried to speak to them in English. They had no trouble, though, taking my money.

I had to use the restroom. I was somewhere between the shampoo and the haircut. My friend was under the dryer, so I decided to speak for myself. They seemed very perturbed about my request. Finally, they handed me a set of keys and took me into an alley with several outhouse toilets. The key opened the door marked “Trois.” I took the key, and they kept the salon door open. I had my first. “I can’t believe this is happening to me now!” Actually, it was my second. I had an experience on the boat, but I digress. Here I was in Paris! It is one of the most glamorous and sophisticated places in the world. I was in a frigin outhouse! I quickly did what I had to and retreated back to the salon. The haircut was great, but I couldn’t get over peeing in the alley. In that instant, I missed home.

Before I forget, back to the boat! The very first night, dinner was a very laid-back thing. No shorts allowed in the dining room at any time.

In school women weren’t allowed to wear slacks. Believe it or not, in the 1960s, the college required it to be below 32 degrees for women to dress in slacks! No one could wear jeans! I distinctly remember the Dean of Women walking the campus with a large thermometer to make sure it was below 32 degrees.

We all had brought dresses. That night, though, we wore slacks. Perhaps it was our way of feeling liberated. I remember I was wearing a new pair of “hopsack” pants that were a terracotta color. We ate, hung around on deck for a while and decided to go to bed. I was in a room with three others. I had a lower bunk in one of the two bunk beds. The room was minuscule, and there was a port hole that was underwater the entire trip! The height of luxury!

The zipper on my new slacks would not go down. Luckily, it was a side zip, not a crotch zip. I asked the others to help. No one could unzip those stupid slacks. The only thing to do was cut or tear the fabric. NO!!! They were new, and they fit so well.

We called for a steward and asked if he could bring pliers. We explained we had a stuck zipper.

Finally, a knock on the door and a cute guy, probably no older than 20, showed up with the pliers. I’m not sure who was more embarrassed.

He pulled and pulled, but it wouldn’t budge. Then he got a brilliant idea to make the zipper soapy. I thought he spent a little too much time rubbing the soap into the zipper. I gave him dagger looks when his free hand went around my legs onto my ass! Nice try, buddy! He laughed.

Finally, he tugged on the zipper, and it opened. He left and said, “Happy to get you out of your pants anytime.” He was still laughing down the hallway.

I definitely liked the boat incident better than the salon outhouse!

As far as I remember, the trip took six days or so. I thought I had made some alliances with some of the others. They seemed pleasant but not friendly. There were two other students who were going to stay in Madrid, Spain and myself. We bonded and made a time and location to meet so that we could find a place to live for the semester. We had been given some guidelines and names of people who would rent to foreign students, but it was not a true exchange. No one would be staying in our homes or at our college in our place. We were sure we had enough information and were not concerned about finding lodging.

To me, it was odd. I had taken every class I could find in Spanish, but I had never seen either one of them in those classes.

We left the boat, and a bus took us to our hotel in Paris! I know we had some required time together, but I can’t recall anything about them. After a couple of days, we were free to do our own thing, stay or leave the city, travel as we wished and given the time and place in Amsterdam to meet.

I hung out with the French-speaking girl. I tried to learn some of the language and could say a few phrases after a day or so. She was going to stay in Paris. She opted out of the rest of the mandatory stops. The faculty didn’t object. I went with her to register her for the semester and secure lodging. Even though it was a different environment from where I would be, the experience helped me in my own search for a place to live.

In Paris, I realized I had never gone into a restaurant by myself! Living in Brooklyn and Queens in New York City, my family and I always frequented restaurants. My mother didn’t like to cook, so we ate in restaurants at least 3-4 times a week growing up.

I started to panic a little and realized sooner rather than later, I would have to go into a restaurant alone. At least I had a friend who spoke the language here in Paris. I knew I wouldn’t be that lucky again.

After four days, I was off. I saw the desired landmarks I had dreamt about and visited places I never knew about.

I went to the Eiffel Tower alone. I can’t remember the circumstances of why I was alone, but rather than sit and wait for my friend, I figured out how to get there and off I went. I walked toward it and felt an odd connection to the Statue of Liberty, a gift from France conceived by the same man, Gustave Eiffel, who gave us both landmarks.

Walking toward the tower, I saw something orange near the top level. I was fixated on that orange blob, trying to figure out what it was. As I was fairly close, I noticed what I perceived to be someone throwing the orange blob ( garbage ) off the tower. I stood close by as the orange garbage grew bigger. I know it must have happened very quickly, but to me, it was all in slow motion. I was angry that someone would deface this tower and thinking to myself that people really sucked! There were a lot of shouts and noises near me, but that thing was getting really close, and I couldn’t seem to move! The next thing I knew, a man(?) tackled me and got me out of the way as the garbage landed with a splat and thud not too far away from the spot I had been standing. I distinctly remember him saying, “Don’t look!”

I just lay there for a few seconds. I knew my knees were scraped and bleeding, my hands as well. Several people came to my aid. They shielded me from whatever that garbage was. They were shouting in French. I couldn’t understand what they were saying. When they got me up, I tried to turn around to ask the man what happened. There was no man. Within minutes, I heard sirens. The medics that came took me to the awaiting ambulance, I guess, just to make sure I was OK and to treat the bleeding skin. One spoke broken English. I found out that the orange garbage was a person who jumped in an orange windbreaker that ballooned out as he fell. It seems it was a common place for people to commit suicide. While the sound remained in my head, I was thankful I didn’t see the body. I had to get back to the hotel. My clothes were torn and bloodied. The man who spoke some English put me in a taxi and gave the driver the hotel's name. I often wonder who the man was that no one seemed to have seen, including me. I just heard his voice.

Now slightly bruised and shaken, I decided not to tell my parents about this unfortunate experience. To this day, I am sure whoever tackled me spoke in English. I wonder who he was?

It took me a few days to get over the incident. I wouldn’t leave my friend's side. Finally I got over it and once again ventured out on my own. I was just walking around looking for a place to sit down and read a letter I had received from my boyfriend. I saw this beautiful park, and there was a section with benches. No one was there, so I walked down the path and sat on a bench. I took the letter our of my pocket to read. Before I could start the letter, an elderly woman came over to me, speaking in French of course and holding a container in front of her. She was talking and pointing to a sign that I couldn’t read! I tried to be polite but she was getting angry and started raising her voice. I said in English, “Im sorry I don’t know what it says and I don’t know what you are saying.” She grumbled and walked away. Again I took the letter out and starting reading, within a minute a male voice said something to me in French, but I didn’t see him standing there, I was engrossed in my letter! I jumped and the paper went flying. He grabbed the letter and handed it back to me. He saw that it was written in English and both laughed and apologized for startling me. He told me that to sit in the park you had to pay a few cents donation. That was the lady’s job. I felt terrible. I knew at that moment how people who don’t speak English when they are in the US must feel when Americans feel foreigners are rude or stupid because they don’t understand English.

He asked me if I wanted to go and have a coffee! I thanked him and refused and just got up and left. Too bad, he was HOT!

Finally, it was time for me to go on. With Eurail Pass in hand, I boarded the train to leave Paris and France behind. I would return there a few times as I crisscrossed the European continent.