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++The gift of touch on an Indian bus

A lonely traveler is saved by the kindness of strangers.

Editor's Note:Each Friday Salon Travel's Wanderlust presents a reader's tale of romance on the road. Be it a romance requited or un-, with an old love or a new lust, send your tales of amorous adventure to Wanderlust. We'll share a selection of them here.

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By Angela Collins

Aug. 27, 1999 |I have been traveling on a bus in India for 15 hours, and I am lonely.  Not lonely as a single traveler roaming alone, but lonely as an empty passenger not willing to initiate the cure for my disease.  I have over-written in my journal and my hand is experiencing early symptoms of arthritis.  I've organized my itinerary with five backup plans.  I've confirmed that I'm still under budget, and now I'm sitting bored to death, unhappy with myself and with no other rock for my mind to hide under.

"Oh, good, a stop," I think as the bus decelerates in the middle of nowhere.

After visiting the bathroom, I wait for everyone to climb back aboard.  When no one moves, I take the liberty.  The door handle is stuck and I pull and pull until an elderly gentleman approaches and points out that we have a 20-minute break before the driver will return. Then he asks where I am from.  For a moment, I think: Has he seen through me? Does he know that I am desperate for attention? 

I answer cautiously -- and immediately feel my penned-up insecurities melt away. This one simple question leads to a conversation that lasts through the day and into the night.  Eventually, my neck grows stiff from speaking behind me through the 1-inch space between my seat and the one next to it.  As our vocal cords exhaust, I smile wordless thanks for this gift of congregation.

A short while later, a commotion starts a few rows ahead.  Suddenly a human figure lurches toward me, staring straight into my eyes.  It looks like a ghost startling me in my dreams, but in fact is a woman who insists in the form of a question "May I sit with you?  My child can't sleep in our seat." 

Before I can answer, she fills the empty seat beside me and rests her head back on the recliner.  A minute later her head jerks in my direction and she asks, "Are you married?"  I smile, knowing that this will lead again to the kind of heartfelt sharing I cherish on the road: opinions, questions, reactions, desires, dreams.

Eventually my companion falls into a heavy slumber, amplified through her nostrils,  but I am freezing and cannot sleep.  Though my sweater is clinched tightly over my damp arms and my blanket is draped over me like a poncho, icy air flows onto me through a miniature window crack.  Thankfully, the bus makes a road stop and I carefully step over my seat-mate's lap. My goal is to find the bus guide and request another blanket, but I realize that I haven't memorized his face. I return to the row before mine and look dismally at my vacant arctic seat.

The retired teacher behind me, my earlier conversation partner, inquires about the concerned look on my face. He suggests that I sit alongside the sleeping man across from him, who has chosen the seat next to the window, leaving the aisle seat free.  As I relocate my purse, blanket and body, the man comes out of his sleep. I smile as if being caught committing a misdemeanor  and explain my situation. He confesses that he has wanted to talk with me the whole journey and just never found an opportunity to do so.  Suddenly we are deep in conversation about music, work and people.

After a while, sleep dominates the direction of our words, but again, I have trouble finding a comfortable position. My head bobs forward and backward as though I am dunking for apples with my teeth.  My anonymous friend guides my restless head to his shoulder.  I follow his leadership and breathe in deeply.  I want nothing more than to feel my temple somehow attached to his shoulder.

Next page | My heart is racing a marathon I don't know how to run