A friend and I tried to hitch from Calais to Paris in 1980 or so. Scruffy punks don’t get lifts, turns out. We got the train and arrived in Paris late at night. Hotels by the station were either full or too expensive. We were staring at our map in despair when a young man asked if we needed help. Long story short, he walked us to his mother’s flat and made up a bed for us on the sofa. She cheerfully made us breakfast in the morning - I got the impression her son often brought home waifs and strays. Really nice people.
A friend and I tried to hitch from Calais to Paris in 1980 or so. Scruffy punks don’t get lifts, turns out. We got the train and arrived in Paris late at night. Hotels by the station were either full or too expensive. We were staring at our map in despair when a young man asked if we needed help. Long story short, he walked us to his mother’s flat and made up a bed for us on the sofa. She cheerfully made us breakfast in the morning - I got the impression her son often brought home waifs and strays. Really nice people.
Wow. That’s a good one.
We were astonished. It could easily have turned extremely nasty, but we instinctively trusted him. It made me a better person I think, more generous.