It was a week into my month-long adventure in Europe. I was traveling on my own with only my backpack and a 30-day rail ticket as my companions. It's hard to believe how much STUFF you can pack into a week's time if you really try. London, Amsterdam, Cologne, Mainz, the Rhine River, Munich. I was doing just what you're not "supposed" to do - seeing as much as possible in the shortest amount of time. As I boarded the evening train from Munich to Frankfurt, the weather was as it had been for most of the trip - wet and dreary. The perfect setting for reading my book and relaxing, while looking out the window at the soggy German countryside.

With me in my compartment were a middle-aged German couple. Not knowing any German and really just wanting to sit and recover from a frenetic stopover in Munich, I started into my book. Just as the train was beginning to pull out of the station, an old woman fumbled into our compartment. Nearly out of breath, she was speaking in halting German to no one in particular. It was odd, but despite knowing no German, I could understand most of what she was saying. One thing I learned on this trip, traveling to many different countries, was that spoken language is merely one tool for communication. Other variables, body language, inflection, tone of voice, all contribute to successful communication. She was dressed very sharply. A flowered skirt, white blouse and black cardigan sweater, with a delightful black beret cocked on her head. Her silver-white hair and her well-weathered face betrayed her age. I didn't really think about it at the time, but I would have guessed she was in her seventies. But, oh, was she full of life!

She was stowing her baggage, speaking to the German couple. I picked up that she had just made the train after having to make a connection and not knowing from which platform this train was to leave. The matter was complicated by her telling the conductor that she was looking for the train to Munich - this was Munich - instead of the train to Frankfurt. She laughed at her near misfortune as she settled into her seat across from me. The relentless rain pounded the windows of the train as we snaked through the German countryside. Our timeworn traveler was on a roll. Occasionally, I looked up from my book and smiled when she said something she thought was funny, or when she used a conglomeration of English-German words that caught my attention. Her lack of German language skills didn't deter her one bit. She used very simple words like "wonderbahr" and "verlay." She was remarking how "wonderbahr" the trains in Europe are, always on time, always comfortable. The German gentleman, and he was quite the gentleman, listened very politely to her ramblings, nodding and smiling all the time. His wife, on the other hand, was getting agitated with all this. She would look at her husband with pursed lips as if to say, "Don't encourage her!" But he listened very courteously, and occasionally even managed to get a word in edgewise!

I was thoroughly enjoying the scene unfolding around me. All the while, I could feel myself being drawn in by this elderly storyteller. Now she was talking about European history. I couldn't make out the specifics, but I heard her mention Napoleon. It struck me as funny, but she obviously considered herself very knowledgeable and had no qualms about sharing her knowledge with anyone who would listen. I felt very frustrated not being able to fully partake in the history lesson.

After a while, the German couple left to have supper in the dining car, or perhaps, just to get away. As they were leaving, the old woman turned to me and said, in English, "Isn't she wonderful. What a lovely woman. And her husband is so kind." I smiled to myself wondering if she had caught the woman rolling her eyes in exasperation while the conversation dragged on. I asked where she was from. "I'm from Chicago," was her reply. I told her that I was from Detroit, so we're practically neighbors. How insignificant 300 miles seems when you've recently traveled 5000. "I LOVE Detroit!" she replied. You don't hear that too often, I thought. "My husband and I collect art. We love going to the Detroit Institute of Art." She explained how they've traveled around the world looking for treasures. "You know," I said, "it was strange how you were speaking German and yet I could understand quite a bit of what you were saying." She laughed, "My husband says the same thing. I learned the language from my German governess when I was little." It was a bit rusty, but she was obviously able to communicate with it. She asked where I was traveling to. I mentioned the places I had been and that I was now on the way to meet a good friend who was now living in Germany with her husband and three children while working on a U.S. Army base. I also said I was thinking of going to Poland.

When I began the trip, I had no intention of going to Poland. It wasn't covered by the Eurailpass, so that's extra money, plus it's out of the way, and I hadn't obtained a visa anyway. While in Munich, I had met some fellow travelers who had been to Poland. They said that as of June 1, a visa was no longer required and that everything is so cheap in Poland, you can get by on just several dollars a day. Since both sets of my grandparents were born there, I had extra incentive to go. "You MUST go," said my traveling companion. "Poland is absolutely beautiful! I've never been there myself but I certainly hope to go some day. It's just that I'd rather wait a few years for tourist conditions to get a little better. I'm rather susceptible to colds these days. But at your age, you must!" She then proceeded to take me on an incredible journey through history. "You'll have to go to the Jagiellonian Library in Krakow. They have these beautiful tapestries on display there. You know about the Jagiellonians, don't you?" I stared blankly at the woman. I confessed that I did not know about the Jagiellonians nor their library. She told me about Ladislas the Jagiellonian and his fight against the Teutonic Order. Then she said, "Of course, you know about Casimir the Great," and launched into another history lesson. I sat there awed. I felt like a little child sitting at granny's feet as she told tales of times and worlds far away. How many stories did she have in her head? How much history has she experienced herself? Here was this walking, talking, living history book in front of me. I was just then beginning to realize what a treasure I had found.

Now I had always prided myself on my grasp of history, especially European history. It fascinated me to be on the continent where so much history had occured. But Ladislas the Jagiellonian? Kasmieriz the Great? I began to doubt. Maybe that German woman with the scrunched up face was right. Does this old woman really know what she's talking about? Or is she just an eccentric old storyteller in search of an audience? It was at this time that I saw a very strong similarity between this woman and Maude of the movie Harold and Maude.

This cult classic was about an 80-year-old woman, played brilliantly by the late Ruth Gordon, who lives life to the absolute fullest. She imparts her love of life to her teen-aged friend, Harold, who is bored with living. Maude is seen as a batty old kook by most, while Harold sees her as an inspiration to truly experience life.

My "Maude" was now telling me about her two favorite "Polish stories." In 1917, when she was 10 years old, her mother took her to a rally in Chicago attended by Ignacy Paderewski, the famed Polish pianist and future prime minister. He was traveling across the U.S. to raise funds for the Polish war effort. Paderewski was a distinguished orator who spoke English well, and the young Maude was taken by this charming, dapper man. The experience had stayed with her always. Her other story was in 1939, soon after the Germans invaded Poland. She was on the Chicago Tribune yacht in the St. Lawrence River when a Polish submarine surfaced. Apparently, it had been on maneuvers in the Atlantic when Poland fell to Hitler's troops, so they had gone to Canada instead of back to Poland. Maude told of how handsome those Polish sailors looked in their gleaming crisp uniforms. Truly, an event to remember. From there, Maude went on to Russian history. "Those Russians just LOVE their Peter. I'd be very surprised if they don't change Leningrad back to St. Petersberg. There are statues of Peter the Great all over Russia. Not that I've ever been there..." The conversation turned from past history to current events. We spoke on how Europeans have a different view of Americans than we do of ourselves. Maude ranted on about how the Gulf War had alienated a lot of Europeans. "Hell's too good for George Bush!" she barked. "Why do we Americans think we need to be the saviors of the world?" At this time I started to get into the conversation. I agreed with her views on the war. "My friends and I sometimes feel set apart," I said. "Our views, like yours, don't seem to mesh with the mainstream American thinking. It's very frustrated to come to Europe and try to explain that not all Americans feel that way." Now that we were on a subject I was more familiar with, she was content to listen to what I had to say. "American society as a whole." I continued, "is losing its independent thinking. It used to be that universities were the hotbed of intellectualism and independent thought. Now kids go to college to get their business degree and head to Wall Street to make big bucks." The woman who was formerly my mentor now became my patron. She was listening quite intently to my sentiments, taking it all in.

Then she inquired, "May I ask you a question? How old are you?" Actually, I had been wanting to ask her the very same question. I replied, "Twenty-eight." Maude looked at me very thoughtfully and said slowly, "You know, I have been traveling in Europe for the past seven summers, and I have met dozens of young Americans, but I have never met anyone like you!" I sat there quite embarrassed, not knowing what to say. "You have excellent communication skills, you are able to think independently - these are qualities not often associated with Americans your age. It's so refreshing to meet someone like that. Is there anything in your background that would make you detached?" "Detached?" I asked. I couldn't grasp the significance of the word. "What do you mean by detached?" "Well," she explained meticulously, "you've got a gift of independent thinking and excellent communication skills. It's a talent that is often developed from a special upbringing. What have been influencing factors in your life to allow you to remain out of the mainstream?" I thought about it awhile. She was making me think about many things. She had mentioned that her father had been involved in fighting the Chicago political machine. I thought of my father, who had recently passed away. "You know," I said after a long pause, "my father was involved in politics, like yours. He was administrative assistant to the mayor of a small Polish enclave of Detroit called Hamtramck." "Hamtramck?" she exclaimed. "I know all about Hamtramck. I love Hamtramck!" That didn't really surprise me, since she seemed to know everything about anything!

I continued on about how my dad was always complaining about the "politics" of politics. How corrupt people can be - always looking out for themselves. He would talk about the cronyism that goes on, the unfair practices, the wasteful spending. His heart was in Hamtramck. Although he hadn't lived there for the last 37 years of his life, he had worked there almost all of it. He was director of the local Goodfellows drive at Christmastime. He had gotten involved in veterans affairs, becoming a District Commander for the Veterans of Foreign Wars, and "Mr. Veteran" to the people of Hamtramck. He also raised seven kids on his own after my mother passed away when I was eight years old.

Maude was engrossed in my story. A smile came to her face. "That's it!" she exclaimed, clapping her hands together. "It's your father's influence that I see in you!" My face flushed. "It's people like him that will change the world - not these politicians." She paused. She could be quite dramatic at times. "He was a true American hero." I was thunderstruck. "I want you to promise me something," she continued. "I can tell you have good journalistic instincts. You're an excellent communicator. I want you to write the story of your father's life." I really didn't know what to say. An incredible sense of pride came over me. Perhaps it was more a sense of reverence. How could this woman I had just met have so much insight into my life? "Write it very terse and to the point," she advised. "Keep it simple. Then send it to the Reader's Digest. They'll know what to do with it. If they can't use it, they can tell you who can. It's the perfect story! It has a widower with seven children, politics, veterans, an American hero, and Hamtramck - everyone loves Hamtramck!" The ideas were now swirling in my brain. I had absorbed so much information in the past two hours. So much insight. With her wonderful encouragement, I felt I could do anything. I told her I would do it.

In the meantime, the German couple had returned. Every once in a while Maude would turn and talk to them, telling them about what we were talking about. I was amazed at how this woman made every minute count. Soon - much too soon - she started gathering up her things to get off at the next station. She said to me. "I've really enjoyed talking to you. This has been a wonsderful experience." Then she added, "You know, I really believe in fate. Now I know why I came to Europe this summer. It was to meet YOU! And you know what? Now I can tell people that I have THREE Polish stories - 1917, 1939 and 1991!" I was stunned. As she got up to leave, she turned to me and said, "You know, I never even got your name." Again, she paused for dramatic effect, and with a twinkle in her eye, she added, "That's okay. I'll know it when I read your story!" I felt frozen in time. This woman, who in the course of a couple of hours changed my life forever, was about to slip away. I wanted to ask her name. I wanted to take her picture. But I didn't. I couldn't. It wasn't important right then. I just wanted to experience the present with her. On her way out, she stopped and talked some more with the German couple. She was gesturing and pointing back at me. In her German-English I could tell she was saying what a remarkable young man was sitting next to them. All I could think of was, in 83 years of life, how many people this woman must have touched. She walked out. I had tears in my eyes. My last sight of her was her walking along the platform as the train was pulling out.

Looking back it seems as if she should have just faded into the damp evening air as if she weren't real. The German woman let out a huge sigh - "thank God she's gone!" I smiled and said, "She's quite a character."

But I smiled to myself. What a character. What an incredible character. What an inspiration. This German woman missed her completely. She couldn't see inside this woman like I did. Fate. I bounded off the train at the next stop - Fulda. There at the end of the platform were the Kays. I rushed to them, hugging them all. Having not seen them for a year, the first words that came from my lips were, "I have to tell you about the woman I just met on the train!"

I haven't stopped talking, or thinking, about her since.