The distinguished mr Henk

The Wild Traveler met with this elderly gentleman from the Netherlands only briefly, in a small hospitality establishment right by the cretan sea, one of those small holiday apartment buildings that serve last minute arrivals and the odd tourist that took a wrong turn on his way to the resort beaches.

As the Wild Traveler was leaving the building that had no doubt seen better days, Mr Henk was entering. He introduced himself in greek, straightening his posture and putting his heels together, making a slight, yet distinguished bow and extending his hand in a firm, reassuring handshake. He explained that he was renting a room there for a few months and that he was pleased to meet the Wild Traveler. And he retired to his humble quarters.

The Wild Traveler first thought was “that’s how I am going to be when I grow old”.

And it was a pleasing thought. For Mr Henk, although clearly past retirement age, had enough of “it” in him – whatever “it” may be – to be on the long haul, solo, away from home, friends and family. And because he had an aura the Wild Traveler thought long lost: the aura of a traveler, not a tourist or a visitor. And finally because this brief encounter made the Wild Traveler think of times past, where travelers were few, travels were long and traveling included colourful stickers on trunks, small pensions with guests that were almost residents, steam boats and steam trains, carriages and porters and, in short, all the enchanting things now only found in Agatha Cristie’s exotic mysteries.