By: Stephanie Xenos
The 21 year old version of me was a stubborn, stupid, and fearless edition.
Fresh out of college and armed with my dream job and my dream boyfriend, I was flush with confidence. Shortly after my 21st birthday, I decided to reward myself with a fabulous solo trip to Europe. I would be traveling to France, a place that since childhood I had imagined to be the most romantic and cultured place in the world. I obsessively searched the internet for tickets, booked the trip months in advance, and patiently waited for the day to arrive. As the trip neared, a series of unplanned events landed me in surgery the week before, with a strict warning from my doctor that air travel should be avoided.
Convinced it had been an exaggeration, I set off for France.
The flight passed without incident, but once I landed in Paris I knew immediately that something was wrong. My body felt a sort of strange exhaustion that within a few short hours turned into crippling pain. The next few days at my dingy hostel were some of the worst of my life. I was alone and scared. I left my bed only to use the communal bathrooms and never made it out to see the city that I had been dreaming of for so long.
On the day I was scheduled to take a train to Bordeaux, I tore myself from the sheets at 5am while the city slept in the darkness, and bundled myself up. In the empty underground metro station, a man approached me asking for directions in perfect French. I knew something was up, but I was still incredibly shocked when he exposed himself and tried corner me. Luckily, I showed enough aggression to properly scare him off and made it on the train safely. I pulled away from the city, crushed by the series of mishaps. It could only go up from here, I thought to myself. And as the countryside began to unfold in front of me, my heart started to lighten a bit.
Arriving in Bordeaux was dreamlike. The city was delightfully picturesque and I found my hotel to be both cozy and quiet. I slept like a child that night, and had sugar plums for dreams. The next day I felt invigorated and excited to replace my memories of Paris with new ones of Bordeaux.
Preparing to head out for the day, I checked my email and found one from my mother, saying she was having a shotgun wedding the following day. My head spun. I would miss my mother’s wedding. I couldn’t believe it, but what could I do?
Determined to put it out of my mind and enjoy Bordeaux, I boarded a small train to St Emilion. I planned to walk the town and taste my way through the wines the region had to offer. I was thrilled. The ride was beautiful and I was eager to see what St Emilion had in store for me.
Anxious to get started, I accidentally got off of the train one stop too soon. As soon as I stepped off the platform I realized my mistake, but saw a sign marked “St Emilion’ with an arrow and decided I could probably just walk the distance to the next stop.
Two and a half hours later, with no water and no working cell phone I began to panic. Thoughts of my wasted time in Paris, my mother’s wedding, and my own misfortune swirled through my mind. On the verge of tears, I stopped at the side of the road and stared into the distance. The view was beautiful but my spirits couldn’t be lifted. This, I thought, was what I get for trying to be independent. This was my punishment. What a fool I was.
Only moments later, the tiniest pickup truck I had ever seen drove by and stopped a few meters in front of me. I heard a voice call to me and I started to walk to the window. Inside the truck was the tiniest man, to match the tiny truck. He was very old, but friendly looking and asked me in French where I was going. I explained my situation and he told me to hop aboard. Figuring things couldn’t get any worse, I did. A few minutes into the ride he mentioned he had a small winery in St Emilion, where his family had been making wine for generations, and asked if I’d like to see it. I was overjoyed at the thought and gave him a resounding yes.
We chatted in French as he took me on smaller and smaller roads, until we arrived at a vineyard that was comprised of a seemingly endless field of vines, and one tiny building. He invited me in and I had to duck, as I couldn’t stand upright in the miniature space. He mentioned that the French people used to be a bit smaller as he handed me samples of wine to try, straight from the barrel. He told me all about his family, the history of winemaking in the region, and all the rules that each wine must follow in order to be sold. After we finished trying all the wines in the barrels, he drove me to his tasting room in the small town of St Emilion and let me sample all his wines, this time from the bottle. I was surprised at how differently they tasted to me and I wasn’t sure if it was the bottling or just the change of scenery.
Warmed by his generosity, I bought one bottle, as I was just barely making my life as an adult and on a strict budget. The old man told me what a joy it had been to bump into me along the road, to take me on a tour of the vineyard, and to share his wines with me. He hadn’t had a visitor to the estate in some time and it could be a bit lonely. He gave me his business card and wished me many more adventures and hoped he might see me again one day.
Leaving his shop, my heart was so warmed that I felt I was floating on air. From my own misfortune, came an opportunity for such an authentic and beautiful experience. I felt the pains and joys of life so fully that day that I vowed I’d return St Emilion once again to find this tiny, generous stranger.
Interested in contributing to S.O.L.O.?
SHE ONLY LIVES ONCE or S.O.L.O. is a movement empowering women of all ages to venture off on their own and fall in love with the world around them. This part of the blog hopes to spark curiosity and inspire self-discovery among fellow female travelers by sharing our adventures, mishaps, and most memorable moments. Interested in contributing a short story or photo? Please contact the Trishlist and/or hashtag #trishlist, #solo, or #sheonlylivesonces for a chance to contribute to the blog.
Trishna Patel aka Trishlist is a cultural curator, photographer, and host specializing in travel and the human experience. Follow her latest adventures as she explores New York City and beyond!