Travel Tales- Bastogne

Reaching Bastogne is altogether another story for another day. Leaving Bastogne is a story I ponder upon.

Walking on a long road without the internet, without much navigation aide, I have a sense of direction to the railway station. I do not have fear of any harm nor worry about what's gonna happen. I did what I could do. Ask. And a gentleman in the car stopped and offered me help. A little conversation, I learnt I'm being offered help by historian who narrated me tales of Bastogne. Amidst stories he told me there's no functional railway station at Bastogne. Buses operate from the railway station but I don't have a pass for buses. It was demolished during the World War-2. Clueless of how I had to head home, I looked at the road. He looked at me and looked at the map and decided to drop me at the nearest station which is 40 KM away. En route we talked and talked and missed looking at the map and travelled extra 20 km to reach the station. Will I drive 60KM extra for a stranger? Yes. Do I expect a stranger in Europe to help me a brown person who can't speak dutch? Yes. What it takes to trust oneself? What it takes to trust others?