“I was living in France when I was young!”
My own fun and uninhibited time begins!

Young people's independent travel mentor
A story of the conquest of France written by a bright and cheerful old lady!

This is the story of the early days of independent travel by the clear-eyed grandmother, the operator of the popular blog, “Grandma is Always Absent.”
In my early 50s, I went on my first ever package tour to Europe with my own savings. After feeling empty, I started traveling independently in my 60s.
We share our pleasant experiences of traveling to France, a country we have always admired, as our first destination.
It provides vivid and detailed local information to help those preparing for a trip.
The number of blog subscribers is increasing due to the appeal of travel stories that are delivered in an easy-to-understand and fun way.


We help you overcome your vague fears about independent travel and take on the challenge with confidence and pride.
The quick wit and resourcefulness with which you can resolve unexpected situations while traveling shows that age has nothing to do with it.
I urge you not to be sensitive to what happens when you travel, because unpleasant things can happen even in the country you live in and the neighborhood you live in.
It means that you should not think of the hardships you face because you are in a foreign country, but rather think positively.
One can feel the generosity of heart that comes from experience and the warm gaze towards ‘humanity’ and ‘nature’.

Before leaving for their trip, the two Busan grandmothers who had hit it off had three or four meetings to prepare for the trip.

One grandmother, who calls herself unemployed (it's strange not to be unemployed at this age), goes to a fairly well-known English academy in Busan to study five days a week in her spare time, and another grandmother studies English at a community center once a week.
With this short English, the two grandmothers confidently pushed ahead with their trip to France.
When we met, we each got excited about bragging about our English teachers.
My friend in particular said that pronunciation is important and that “foreigners will never understand if you say ‘water.’”
“You have to say ‘Wo~re~l’” he would emphasize, rolling his tongue.
While doing so, they both held on to the thought that they would have to use the English they had learned while traveling.
These two grandmothers, with no plan, flew to France with only courage.
From 'Start your journey_ Can you speak English?'

In front of the oncoming car, the two old ladies took turns giving each other thumbs up and waving their arms vigorously.
No one is stopping us! We're so discouraged.
I try to convince my friend that I should walk, but he says, “Are you crazy?”
Then what should I do?
Exhausted and helpless, I collapsed back into the forest by the road.
We sat there for a while, just watching the cars pass by, when a young man stopped his car and waved us over.
I ran over to him in delight, and he said something in incredibly fast English. I heard him say something like, 'I passed by here an hour ago and came back and saw you there.
It sounded like he was saying, 'Where are you going? I'll give you a ride.'
Ah, thank you, thank you!! Despite my shame, I got into the car while repeatedly saying 'thank you'.
As soon as I got in, the car started running at full speed.
Only then did the two old ladies come to their senses.
"You're not taking me to peel garlic, are you? Are there garlic factories in France?" Meanwhile, the two old ladies were joking around, happy that they were running.
From 'The Revo Grandmas' Hitchhiking Didn't Work'

There is a place in Strasbourg called Petite France.
The beautiful scenery of Strasbourg cannot be discussed without mentioning this place.
We set out to find Petite France.
I looked at the map, but I don't see it because I took the wrong direction.
I asked a passerby.
“Where is the Petite France?” He tilts his head and passes by, saying sorry.
I asked someone else again.
“Where is the Petite France?” The man tilts his head.
It was only then that I realized that my English pronunciation was the problem, so I tried pronouncing it a little differently.
“Petit Franz!” Still, he tilts his head and says he doesn’t know.
I had no choice but to spread out the map and show it to him, and his face lit up and he said, “Petit Bong!”

~Huh? 'Petit Bong!!!'
I thought Petite France meant 'beautiful France'.
I thought Petit was the French pronunciation of Pretty.
It was my own interpretation.
Petite means 'small' in French and Pont means 'bridge'.
So 'Petite Pont' means 'small bridge', and Petite France means
It means 'Little France' and refers to a neighborhood with medieval houses around a river with a bridge.
The unexpected appearance of the word 'petit pong' was so fresh and fun that I couldn't help but laugh it off.
Every time a picturesque and enchanting landscape came into view, we shouted “Petit Pong!”

From 'Petite France - Ignorance Pierces the Sky'

--- From the text