My cousin, her boyfriend, B, and I were on a tram in Budapest. We were standing near the doors and chatting casually in English, with our stop still four or five away. B had a plastic shopping bag with our bathing suits, my cousin’s boyfriend had a small backpack with theirs, and my cousin and I just had our purses.

Then, a woman in her 60s tapped my cousin’s shoulder and started speaking to her rather quickly in Hungarian. We weren’t at a stop or in her way, so we were quite befuddled at first. However, she added hand gestures to her repertoire, clearly pointing out my cousin’s shoulder bag, which had two unzipped compartments. ‘Do you know how many hoodlums operate on these trains?’ I imagine her saying in Hungarian. ‘They’ll reach into your purse and steal everything!’ My cousin, assuming a similar narrative, nodded and responded in English: ‘You’re absolutely right. Thank you!’ In many European countries, advising other people’s children – or even other adults, is perfectly appropriate, and here was no different.

However, this was not the end of it. Whether because she wasn’t certain we understood or because we grow somewhat less concise as we grow older, this woman wasn’t quite done. Her hand motions continued, and the four of us attempted to make sense of them, throwing out potential interpretations as they came to us. She was gesturing to the ceiling of the tram, showing something descending, and one of us said, ‘Maybe she’s warning you about ninjas coming down from the tram roof to grab your wallet?’ Doubtful.

Then, she motioned that my cousin should also keep her purse in front of her, not low on her side, where it was hanging. ‘Easier for someone to reach in when it’s not in front,’ I guessed she was saying. I hastened to nod my understanding and agreement, hoping that would assuage her concern – especially since my cousin seemed to be losing patience with the ongoing monologue. Having dispensed sufficient wisdom, the woman grew quiet, as did we.

On many days, I appreciate the American tendency to leave others alone. If I want to catch a cold by dressing inappropriately in winter, that’s presumed to be my business. (So long as I don’t then subject others to my sick-person germs on the subway.) If I’m careless enough as to make my money readily accessible to pickpockets, then that’s my lesson to learn. Now, strangers in the American Midwest are certainly more apt to volunteer opinions. However, they’re more likely to discuss the Packers, the weather, or the annoying line you’re in together – rather than to comment on your parenting style, your food choices, or your decision to jaywalk.

That said, there’s something very nice about feeling like others are looking out for you. It’s a bit like having grandparents or aunts and uncles everywhere – to chastise you for your more ill-advised decisions. In the moment, you may not appreciate the meddling, but you’re glad for the mini-crises they help you avoid. In that way, Europeans (at least in the south and east) are more my speed. Perhaps I’ve reached the age at which my appreciation overrides my insistence on coming to it on my own. At least, when it comes to strangers.