A NEW EXPERIENCE
Travel at 90 is not the same
Last fall, my overseas trip ended and I was back in one piece, just as I had hoped.
Having just passed the big
9-0 landmark, I was wondering how it would all turn out and how others would view me — a person of my age still travelling and especially on a transatlantic journey. I already had surprised comments from friends here at home who were wondering how I would manage on the trip. Many of them, in my age group, said they would no longer undertake such a trip.
But I was determined to go on yet another trip to my homeland, Hungary, confident that I would be able to manage. Did I really have a tag around my neck saying “90”?
The fun started right at the airport in Montreal. The lovely lady at the Lufthansa counter took one look at me, then another at my passport showing my birthdate, to comment “You certainly don’t look your age.” Here we go, I figured.
But the “age question” would follow me on the trip. Part of it was my own realization that things were not what they used to be and that I needed to adapt to this new reality.
I was on a trip with Senior Discovery Tours, titled Budapest Spa Holiday. Our home base would be the Ensana Thermal Margaret Island Hotel, located on the verdant island on the Danube separating the Buda and Pest sides of town. The program featured many outings in Budapest and environs. Also included were treatments at the spa, based on the healing mineral-rich thermal waters derived from the island’s natural springs.
For the umpteenth time, I was again a tourist in the city I call my hometown, where I was born and where I spent the formative years of my life. I still feel at home there, too, as I do in Canada, speaking the Hungarian language, keeping in touch with a new generation of relatives, visiting the graves of loved ones.
But this time was a little different from past visits. I did not participate in as many group outings as before, worried about keeping up with the group on lengthier walks or managing stairs.
One thing I noticed concerning stairs was how historic buildings have resplendent staircases inside and outside with no hand railings. In many of them, elevators were installed as the modern era unfolded. Still, I grasped the hand of a perfect stranger to help me manage a few stairs during our visit to the historic Duna Palota (Danube Palace) building on the Pest side, where we attended a concert.
“Help yourself ” is my motto these days.
On my few trips on my own into the Pest side of the city, just a bus ride away from the island, I was being careful crossing the street on Grand Boulevard and hung on to the railing ascending stairs to my hairdresser. I did a bit of shopping, too, at the supermarket. There, too, I was surprised when the friendly lady at the cash politely asked to know my age. Again, I was assured that I looked younger than my years.
But there was no getting away from remarks related to my age. The remedial gym instructor lady wanted to know if I still did my own cooking and laundry. Another time, a member of our group told me how people in the group “admired” me for participating at age 92 (I corrected her on that one!). When I protested, her insightful reply surprised me. “I see. You want to be known for who you are, not your age.” Well put.
On the last evening of our tour, our lovely tour manager, Lise, another lady and I were walking through the hotel lobby when suddenly Lise turned to me. “Do you mind if I tell her your age?” she inquired. No, I did not, I said. Yes, I did, I thought. Is that the most important thing about me?
In the end, my hairdresser Toni had the last word on my return. “It’s nice to be home.” All in one piece, having crossed the ocean.
Except … soon after my return, right here at home in Montreal, I had a nasty fall stepping off the curb on Cavendish Boulevard. Fortunately, nothing broken, but still …
Go figure.