I’ve been fortunate in my travels so far–not only have I not had really bad experiences with other people, but I’ve had some fantastic interactions that make me believe in the kindness of strangers. My favorite such story is when I visited my sister Emily in France in April 2008, and it’s my favorite not just because I got out of a jam but because the people who helped me out seemed the least likely to open their doors to a stranger. Preconceptions, what!

I was feeling quite proud of myself for cobbling together an itinerary of two flights from two different airlines to get the cheapest fare to Avignon from Chicago, but that backfired magnificently when my flight to Heathrow was delayed and there was no time for me to get to Gatwick in time to make my connecting flight. (Oh yes, did I mention that the two flights were to and from two different London airports that are an hour apart if you don’t factor in traffic, and that there were only two hours between landing in Heathrow and taking off in Gatwick, and that I’d called a car service the night before to get me to Gatwick on time, but when I tried to cancel after I realized there was no way I’d make my connecting flight, they still charged the full amount and I had to call my credit card company to get the charge removed and I received threatening letters from the car company for the next four months? Travelers, take note.)

After passing several uncomfortable hours in the airport, I was finally able to get on a plane on standby. True, it was going to Nice instead of Marseilles and I’d have to rearrange my train ticket to Avignon once I landed, but no matter, I was on my way to France. I settled in to my middle seat between a teenage girl zoning out on her headphones and an English businessman shaking his newspaper out in front of him. It was a cramped flight and I just wanted to land, turn on my phone (newly enabled for international travel), and call Emily to tell her I was that much closer to seeing her.

But of course that’s not how it went. We did indeed land, but when I turned on my phone, nothing happened. I knew the battery was charged, so who knows why it chose that exact moment to die, but regardless, I had no way of contacting Emily and I was pretty sure there wasn’t much time til the last train to Avignon for the day. So I turned to the businessman beside me and said, “I only have one pound left, but can I give it to you to use your phone real fast to call my sister? My phone seems to have died.” He told me not to be silly, he didn’t need the money, and handed over his phone. I called Emily and sure enough, there was one more train to Avignon and I’d need to hoof it to make it to the train station on time. Even then, I might not make it, so I warned Emily that I’d call her from a hostel if I didn’t make the train, and in that case I’d see her tomorrow. When I handed the phone back to the businessman, he was looking at me with horror.

“You’re going to try to make that train? There is definitely not enough time!” he said.

“Oh, well, I might make it. I’ll give it a shot,” I said casually.

“And what if you don’t make the train?” he asked.

“Oh, I’ll find a hostel somewhere and stay there. I’m sure there’s a listing of hostels at the train station.”

“That’s ridiculous. Do your parents know you travel like this?”

I didn’t care for his condescension, but he seemed genuinely concerned for my well-being, so I gave him a pass and repeated that it was fine. By this point, we had made our way off the plane to the baggage area, and he met up with his wife and son. I went outside to flag a cab to take me to the train station, but the businessman and his family chased after me and offered me a ride to the station instead, to save me money. I said sure, that sounded great, and I inwardly sighed with relief that I’d save that fifteen euros; as European vacations go, this one was being done on a shoestring budget. The man and his wife turned aside and spoke to each other in rapid French, while their preadolescent son and I looked awkwardly at one another.

“Why don’t you come home with us?” the businessman said, turning back to me.

“Um, what?” I replied, a bit stupidly.

“Yes, we will take you home and then tomorrow you can get the first train to Avignon,” his wife said in accented English.

“Oh, well, I think I can maybe still make the train tonight, and if not, there’s a hostel somewhere,” I tried.

“You won’t make that train,” he said frankly. “Come on, Fanette has made a great dinner and  you can share our daughter’s room.”

Here is the point in the story where I’m sure some people would back away slowly, or splurge on a cab to a hotel in the city center. But I saw an opportunity not just to save some money but to spend time with new people, people who had just proved themselves very generous. I said yes without any further hesitation.

We drove for about 25 minutes past the city limits of Nice until we reached their house in Antibes, which was oh yes, a small mansion with a pool overlooking the Mediterranean. Did I mention that this businessman obviously did very well for himself?

the back patio -- that's the pool, a palm tree, and the view out to the sea

Paul, as he revealed himself to be, did some type of finance work, and the family owned a house in London, this summer home in France, and also a Swiss chalet for skiing in the winter.  Hot. Damn. As might be expected from that description, the house was beautiful, and the wine was expensive. After calling Emily to update her on the situation, we sat down to a delicious meal, and they asked all sorts of questions about my travels past and future. Paul continued to see me as a foolish young woman, I think, but I flatter myself that his teenage daughter might have found some inspiration in my tale. Except for maybe the part where I’d bungled every bit of transportation so far on this trip.

We talked politics over dinner, and it became clear that Paul was staunchly conservative, and didn’t think Bush had been doing such a bad job. Keep in mind that this was spring of ’08, when we were all in a fever about finally getting rid of Bush and bringing in Clinton or Obama. The discussion got quite spirited, but I will say that he kept it civil. We both thought the other naïve and irresponsible in politics, but we didn’t resort to name-calling and we kept coming back to the common ground we did have. It’s the type of political debate I think we all wish could be the norm but has become increasingly rare in the States.

Anyway, I think you can see why this is my favorite story of surprise hospitality. These people were rich conservatives, who saw my whole approach to travel and probably my whole life as dangerously slapdash and unfocused; hardly the kind of people known for helping out travelers in need. And yet they opened up their home to me, made me feel entirely comfortable, and gave me a ride to the train station the next day. What a great example they were setting for their kids, even if they did sit them down after I’d left and explain that there would be no trotting all over and staying who knows where for them.

I sent them a postcard from Germany later in that trip, but I’ve since lost the address, which really bums me out. I wanted to send more inspirational postcards to those kids and Christmas cards of gratitude to the parents. I wanted to keep this tenuous connection between us, to hold on to my own Good Samaritans and keep a tangible link to the kindness of strangers and the fortune of the traveler. Since I can’t do that directly, I do the next best thing to keep that spirit of spontaneous generosity alive and encourage it in others—I tell people this story.