Why car-free living is also a passport to fresh human connections
In the days when holidays actually happened, we went to Scotland. The holiday was blissful.
(The trick for a successful holiday in Scotland, in case anyone was wondering, is to choose a week of unbroken sunshine. Miraculously, I’ve managed this twice now, and it really works).
But the journey up very nearly turned into a disaster.
We travelled up on the glorious Caledonian Sleeper (and if you’ve not already done this, you must, must, must. I’ll do a separate post on sleeper train routes from London next year). After a cosy night in our adjoining compartments, we wandered down to the lounge car for breakfast. As the four of us sat eating our porridge and looking out at the most spectacular scenery the world has to offer we realised the train was running an hour late.
Now, this was a problem, as to reach our booked hotel in the village of Plockton, we needed to change at Fort William for a three-hour bus ride to Kyle of Lochalsh, where we needed to join another train for the final leg to Plockton. Our connection time was 46 minutes, meaning the whole plan had just collapsed.
As we sat discussing what to do (we didn’t much fancy the idea of waiting for the next bus 4 hours later), a fellow passenger tentatively approached us.
He explained that he was hiring a car in Fort William, would be driving in the approximate direction of Plockton and would be willing to give us a lift. We were extremely grateful but couldn’t see how it would work, as our youngest would need a car seat. He offered to drive us first to the Fort William branch of Argos to buy one. We accepted gratefully!
Helen and the kids waited at Fort William station while our Saviour drove me to Argos. He was absolutely lovely but we didn’t have much in common. It turned out from our early (very stilted) conversation that he was a mechanical engineer by profession — I am notoriously impractical when it comes to things that move.
His engineering background turned out to be useful when I realised I had literally no idea how to fit the newly purchased car-seat safely, and the instructions appeared to be cartoons involving aliens with no arms. Unable to bear watching me struggle he took over and sorted it in minutes — the relief was worth the hit to my pride!
Once we were ensconced in his car it was very kind of him to think of leaving the main road to take us a scenic route. However, the narrow twisting roads of the Scottish Highlands, though beautiful, are not ideal for two children not used to car travel.
Before long, came the plaintive cries of “I feeeeel siiiick”. This was not good. We were now miles from anywhere, in the middle of open country, being given a lift by a total stranger and both our kids were about to vom all over his expensive hired car.
Even worse, what if it was projectile and reached him? This would have been an even bigger issue than it sounds as, remarkably, he had come to Scotland for what appeared to be a walking holiday wearing patent leather shoes and mustard-coloured trousers. They looked expensive, and like they’d show up reconstituted porridge nicely.
We persuaded him of the necessity of stopping by the side of the road while both children took shaky breaths by the side of the car.
Eventually, we got going again.
For the rest of the ride, we split our efforts. Helen, bravely taking the position in the middle of the back seat, concentrated on murmuring soft nothings in a soporific voice , and stroking their hair. Miraculously, it worked! Both children fell asleep and stayed asleep for the rest of the journey.
I, meanwhile, took on the task of Conversation. This was harder than it sounds as the more we spoke, the more it turned out that certain political topics needed to remain firmly off-limits.
In the end, I spent two hours feigning interest in the precise details of the engineering and geological solutions employed to create every hydro-electric dam we passed en route (and, boy, you don’t realise just how many hydro-electric dams there are in Scotland until you’re given a lecture on every single one).
Eventually, we arrived in Plockton. Our Benefactor gave us a lift all the way to the door of our hotel. He absolutely refused a contribution to the cost of the petrol. We sent him away, instead, with his ears ringing with our thanks.
So why have I chosen to open a blog selling the idea of car-free living with last year’s biggest car-free cock-up?
Because it was a highlight of the holiday. It gave us something to talk about and laugh about for months to come. Because it was a reminder of the kindness of humanity. Because, even though our Samaritan was rather intense, I actually learned a lot of interesting stuff on topics I’d never have engaged with. And because it was a window into someone else’s world for a few hours and that is fascinating. When Covid is finally ‘over’, we’ll need that shared humanity even more.
Being honest: most car-free journeys, like most car journeys, go off uneventfully. But car-free living contains greater potential for moments in which you touch, briefly, other peoples’ lives. And that’s one of the reasons why I love them.
In a few weeks’ time, I’m going to launch Carefree Carfree, a new blog dedicated to car-free living. This story illustrates why.
