As you take off on your holidays, beware the people you end up sharing your travelling space with, warns Rosemary MacCabe
IT HAPPENS to the best of us: you find yourself somewhere you’d rather not be, with someone you’d rather not be with. The proximity is the most pressing issue: arm on arm, thigh on thigh and the distinct possibility that, at some stage in your journey, this person will fall asleep and rest their head on your shoulder – a head you do not know, a shoulder they simply should not be drooling on.
Travel is a straightforward way of sating our thirst for “the voyage”.
We come, we see, we may not conquer but we do, instead, purchase several pairs of beaded sandals and return home triumphant. In the summer months, thousands will eschew the luxury of air travel for the novelty of trans-European trains or, more questionably, buses, seeking the most “authentic” experience.
These intrepid travellers will take only the essentials: bum bags to protect cash and documents; travelling light; bringing items that double as blankets.
But one thing the guide books don't advise on is the care one must take when choosing who to sit next to. This is especially relevant when alone, although even the savviest of travelling threesomes can end up next to Little Britain's Vicky Pollard.
It's not an exact science; haven't you seen Strangers on a Train? We humans have an inherent inability to recognise insanity in others. There are, that being said, certain tell-tale signs.
First, begin by deciding what it is that you want. If you want to talk, you are the type of person everyone else wants to avoid. Fool them with earphones and sunglasses, diversions you can whip off as soon as the dust settles.
Conversely, if you wish to keep to yourself, read and listen to music, look out for someone who appears to be engrossed in their own travelling activities. A hefty tome is a good indicator; chances are, someone lugging Ulyssesaround isn't doing so for the good of their health. They will most likely leave you alone and are unlikely to ask whether or not you know their Aunt Sally in Westmeath.
Leading nicely onto: Americans.
Americans in Europe want to see and experience as much as possible and, as they couldn’t quite fit Ireland into their 30-day, 60-country itinerary, this conversation with you will have to suffice.
They will ask about the Book of Kells, about the Giant's Causeway, about the Blarney Stone. They will ask if you know any of the 329 Irish-Americans they know "back home" in Boston. They will ask you to speak Irish, whether or not you've seen a leprechaun and, when you part ways, they will ask for your email, LinkedIn and Facebook details.
The happy news is, Americans are easy to spot. They will be smiling at all and sundry from beneath a baseball cap, will have their sunglasses on a string around their necks and will be wearing something from North Face.
Next, remember the old adage, if it looks like a duck and quacks like a duck, it is a duck. So if your potential seat-mate looks like they don’t wash and smells like they don’t wash, the chances are, they haven’t washed in months and, more to the point, they’re not about to start because you happen to take umbrage at their bodily aroma.
Avoid.
Similarly, children.
Unless you are a peppy 20-something with a collection of magic tricks, there is no quicker way to render a voyage hellish than to seat oneself next to a toddler and his argumentative sister. There is no way you will avoid conversation, you may at some stage get kicked, and something will spill, most likely all over you.
Unless you really want to make friends, your best bet is to find an elderly couple taking in the sights of Europe. They will have books they will be happy to swap for your dog-eared copy of Fear and Loathing; they will have biscuits they are happy to share; and, if you're lucky, they will have a hip flask full of bourbon which, on the last, cold, lonely night, they will open and offer up as a sacrifice to the gods of bad travel decisions.
