![]() ![]() We’re not close enough to a main road for me to pick out traffic sounds to follow and I am on the verge of googling one of the town’s exorbitant taxi providers before my phone gives up the ghost.Īs a young woman travelling at night, I am programmed to treat offers of lifts from strangers with suspicion. ![]() I’ve just spent fifteen minutes trying to find meaning in Google Map’s cryptic instructions, navigating through zig-zagging paths and roundabouts. But this quiet town is no place for me to be wandering around at this time of night, with about eight kilos of laptop, Braille display machine and groceries weighing on my shoulders, and 3 per cent of remaining phone battery to ration. This time it happened because the train was more crowded and noisier than I’d ever experienced it, and I simply wasn’t proactive enough about pushing through the bodies to locate, and exit, the door on time.Īnyway, here we are, hovering outside your car, and you’ve kindly offered me a lift, which I wish I didn’t need to take. The first time, it was because riding a much older train, not fitted with doors that beep when opened, caught me unawares. You don’t know it, but I’ve only done that twice in two months of regular travel. I explained to you, in halting Swedish, that I got off at the wrong train station, one stop after my usual one. You thought I looked lost and you were quite right. I was consulting my phone a lot, white cane in tow, turning around and trying different directions. ![]() It was around 9:45 pm on Friday when you found me, in front of a petrol station in the sleepy Swedish town where I was living. Dear kindly Swedish couple – I’ll call you Mrs and Mr Andersson, ![]()
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
Details
AuthorWrite something about yourself. No need to be fancy, just an overview. ArchivesCategories |