She looked at the world with a vacant stare over the top of her sunglasses.
She wore her dark glasses at all times. It didn’t matter that the sun wasn’t actually shining, or whether she was indoors, or even that it was evening, the sun glasses were always on her nose. Actually they were half way down her nose, and seemed to serve no purpose whatsoever. Perhaps she had forgotten she was wearing them, or judging by her vacant stare, she never knew she had them on. Her skin had not one line. Her small mouth was permanently pursed in a disapproving frown.
Her legs were slightly bent at the knees with her feet splayed. She was either unsteady on her feet or about to go to the toilet! She looked as if she was one sandwich short of a picnic.
Perhaps drink or drugs were involved?
She told me her name was Sherrie. At first I thought she said Cheery, but I took one look at her and dismissed that thought.
And at this moment she was in need of my help.
Let’s go back in time for a moment.
Gordon and I had spent two days in Barcelona before boarding a cruise ship – Crystal Cruises once more. It is a short twelve day cruise around the eastern mediterranean ending up in Lisbon.
Those of you who know me, know that I do not like to sign on to the organised tours arranged by the ship. But we have made the mistake of doing just that for one day only.
We have docked in Villefranche on the Mediterranean coast and are making our way to the coach. Gordon and I were the first two people to board. The first row of seats on either side had notices on them saying “reserved for disabled”. We took the two seats on the right hand side behind the reserved seats.
We watched the next couple stop and look at the seat signs. An unspoken but recognisable signal passed between them as they took the disabled signs on the two left hand seats, pushed them to the floor and sat down with smug smiles on their faces. This was a tour from a cruise ship. There were plenty of passengers who would need those seats but this couple were not two of them.
The remaining passengers quietly filed past us until Sherrie entered. She was clearly very unsteady on her feet and was having trouble negotiating the steps up into the coach. She finally reached the first row of seats and looked so relieved to see that two of them were empty. But then she stopped and just stared at them. I asked her if she needed help. She looked at me, thought for a moment and said:
“I can’t sit there”
“Of course you can” I told her. “They are reserved for you”
She looked at me again and I thought she was going to cry.
“But I don’t have a disabled card” she said
I told her that I was sure no one would complain if she sat in those seats. She thanked me profusely and collapsed into the window seat.
I was relieved to see that she had a husband, albeit a not very attentive one. He arrived several minutes later, smiled and sat down next to her. He appeared to be well over 70, which would explain a lot. Maybe Sherrie was a similar age and well into her dotage, a fact that a surgeon had expertly hidden. Plus, the husband was dressed entirely in black, perhaps taking the boy scouts motto “be prepared” all too seriously.
We had been driving for some time when she turned round to me and said that the steering wheel was on the wrong side of the bus.
I asked why she thought that.
“Well, in England the steering wheel is always on the other side. That is something I have always noticed because it seems so strange”
Oh dear.
The coach arrived at our first stop – the Maeght Foundation. France’s first independent art foundation, it is an incredible celebration of 20th century artists, housed in an equally impressive building
But to get there we had to negotiate a steep pathway. Most of us walked, Sherrie was dragged.
The Foundation is renowned for its sculpture garden featuring Calder,
work by Giacometti
a Miro Labyrinth
as well as a Barbara Hepworth piece that created a perfect frame for a one legged Gordon
Inside there was an equally impressive display of paintings
with works by Leger
and Chagall
as well as a mosaic by Chagall
We spent a leisurely couple of hours at the Foundatiuon, but it was time to make our wy back to the bus.
Sherrie and her husband were already there. The morning had not affected her at all. She looked exactly the same. The glasses half way down her face, the disapproving mouth and the inattentive husband
And that dear readers, is why I choose not to do group tours.
Andrews Fabulous Travel Blog 