In New York . . .
I was walking down Fifth Avenue in New York and wasn't really conscious of where I was when I heard screaming. A lot of screaming. Before I had time to react, a woman who knew why everyone was afraid ran by, reversed, grabbed my arm and pulled me around the corner. I didn't question. I went with her to safety.
Only then did I follow her gaze. I looked up and saw something falling from the roof of Trump Tower. Some sort of roofing, a big black sheet, floating down. It wasn't an air-conditioner (the most prominent fear of New York pedestrians) but I bet it still could have packed a wallop. I have to think that woman, who did not have to come back for me, saved my life or more likely spared me a trip to the hospital.
In Barcelona . . .
Francisco Franco was still dead when this happened. The year was 1976 and I had met a woman from California at my hotel. I am a lazy tourist. She was a conscientious one. It made sense for me to let her show me around the city. She actually had a guide book. A thick one. That she used. Radical. She probably also read up on the political situation in the area before she arrived. Yeah, I didn't really have time for that.
So, when we were walking down a narrow street and an angry crowd turned the corner and started marching towards us, my alarm bells didn't go off at the level they should have. "You do not want to be here," she said while I was still trying to figure out what was going on. She grabbed my arm and pulled me into a doorway where we watched the protestors pass within inches. Franco had died the year before but protestors were still not viewed kindly in Spain. I don't think she actually saved my life that day, but she did teach me to be aware of the political situation I am walking into. So who knows what she saved me from in the future?
In Venice . . .
I was never hot looking. Even at my peak, I didn't have to fend off admirers off as I walked the streets of the United States. Standards, however, were different in Italy where the slogan in the seventies appeared to be American Girl, Good Time.
It was into that atmosphere that I checked out of my hotel in Venice with a Sunday afternoon to kill before I caught the night train to Dubrovnik. I had a several hours to write postcards, drink a few Oranginas, and wander through Venice alone. However, young American girls had difficulty wandering anywhere alone in Italy. I felt as if each American tourist of my age and gender was assigned an admirer upon arrival. On occasion, there would be a conflict and these "admirers" would argue over a visitor. And that was how my Sunday was going when I decided I could not take it anymore. I went to the train station, saw the next train was going to Vienna and got on it. (God bless Eurail passes.)
What I would not know for several days until I saw an International Herald Tribune was that the train I planned on taking had been derailed in northern Italy during a 6.5 earthquake. I probably wouldn't have been killed--no one was--but I would have been thrust into a very chaotic situation. Over a hundred thousand people were left homeless by that quake. So, I owe a debt of gratitude to the annoying young men in Venice.
Before I left Venice, I did get to mail my postcards saying I was taking the night train through northern Italy on my way to Dubrovnik. In those days when you were out-of-touch, you were out-of-touch. No one heard from me for weeks saying that I had not been caught in the earthquake. If they had worried, they never mentioned it.
NOTE TO SELF: A part of you regretted that you missed experiencing a major earthquake, but then you reminded yourself of your greatest fear: being minorly inconvenienced. In addition, you did not want to be a tourist at someone else's tragedy.
NOTE TO SELF: Two guys did actually get into an argument about who saw you first. Not sure what Italian city. You walked away while they were arguing. One did catch up to you, but all he got to do was explain the World Cup.
