How is this still happening?

After four days of travelling on my own in Switzerland and the southern half of France, I returned to Paris on Thursday night, safely back in the north that I recognise, with plans to visit a castle - my first French château - in nearby Pierrefonds, in Picardy.

It was onboard the train to take me to Compiègne, from where I was to take the bus to the castle used in that popular BBC show Merlin as Camelot, that the subject of this post really came through. I had been mulling over thoughts until it all came together.

Before the train had even left the Gare du Nord, my solitary thoughts and music were interrupted by a man, roughly, I'd say, in his forties, joining my compartment on the train. Fine. I replied to his hello with my own, and turned to carry on watching the advertisements for two new films change round through the window, listening to P!nk, I think. Perhaps not.

The scene is set.

What I expect is for him to open his paper and read, and for me to continue as I was, as the vast majority of other train journeys happen. What happens instead, is he asks me if I am going to Creil, a place of which I have never heard, not helped by the pronunciation being similar to "crey". It is clear from the getgo that I am not French when I stare at him blankly.

Eventually I tell him no, I am not going there. Are you English?, he asks me. Yes, I reply. I turn back to the window. We are still in the station. I still have two earpieces in, although the music is paused. Perhaps you think me rude at this point. He continues to ask me questions. Why am I in France? What do I study? How old am I? All normal conversation starters, yes.

Then, as I feared, the conversation turns. What do I want to do with my life? I'm sorry, it's 9 o'clock on a Friday morning, and you are a stranger to me. Of course, I have ideas, but I reply "I don't know". Regardless, as is the problem with the future, I am not sure. Then without saying anymore, I am treated to a ten-minute explanation of why I need to have ambition, how it is the cornerstone. But, oh no, he is not encouraging me to strive for the top of my career...

Did I not dream of getting married when I was growing up? I am asked. He thinks I don't understand him so he tries to say it again in another way, but I cut him off as I understood perfectly. He asks about my childhood plans to have children of my own. At no point is my career mentioned, although he knows I study two academic subjects. I am gobsmacked. I am a young woman, he is an older man, what right does he have?

Being unused to such conversation in French, I am not sure how to tell him to back off. Having explained that I am quite happy in my own company, and no, I did not dream of such things at the age of nine, I try to express my opinion of his questions by turning away. It takes a further ten minutes, but he finally reads his paper and leaves me in peace. He gets off at the first stop. It is Creil. I breathe out.

And the door to the compartment opens. I look up. Another bonjour and another reply from me. Another man, although this time younger. There is silence, and I listen to my music until a ridiculously quiet announcement is made over the tannoy and I think it's my stop so I begin to move. Are you getting off here? He asks me. Yes, I say, is this Compiegne? He laughs. No, this isn't Compiegne. Are you English? My accent only fools a few French people, it seems, and a couple of Brits. I answer in the affirmative, and he is impressed, like I can help my birth nation. We swap first names at his request.

Silence rests another minute. Then a question from him. Do you have a husband? I can't believe my luck on a fifty-minute train journey. Again, not sure how to stop him from talking to me, I say no. This begins an instant tirade. Do you have a boyfriend? Why not? Haven't you found anyone? You must find someone, surely! Another repetition of being fine on my own is not enough. Why would you be fine on your own? Why wouldn't you want someone else to be with? I say very little. I try to repeat my earlier actions. They are less effective.

Are we friends? he asks. I barely reply. Can he have my number, and can he give me his? No, I say, I don't have a French phone. An English one then? No, it doesn't work. But he sees it in my bag, and despite my protestations that the SIM card does not work (an exaggeration of the truth) he insists I write his number down and call him. I write it down, to get him off my case. Then it is my stop. I stand up to leave, and this is possibly the most terrifying part.

He grabs my arm. He asks me to kiss him goodbye, as the French do with people they know. I pull my arm free and leave the train into the biting cold. I delete the number immediately. I don't even get to see my castle.

In this day and age, why do some men still think this is acceptable behaviour? I am of an age where I am free enough to travel and see the world, and yes I go alone because often otherwise I would not get to go at all. What right does that give to anybody to ask me such questions? Why am I supposedly an easy target? I recounted these stories to a couple of people. Their suggestions were to learn some phrases in French now that I am able enough to speak it to rebuff people like this. Yes, great idea, thank you. I am apparently going to need them. The normal ones were said - leave me alone, please stop and similar - but also "I'm a lesbian".

Of course, such statements may work, but they should be nowhere near necessary. I should not have to need to resort to this.

Moreover, how dare a strange man, completely unknown to me, touch me at all. I am not property. Neither is any other woman. I decide who touches me and who doesn't. Don't you dare.

With regards to the ambition rant to which I was subject, I honestly thought men had begun to accept the role of women in today's society. I see and hear women railing against sexism, but I never really witnessed it to any extent. I see Hillary Clinton as Secretary of State for the United States, I see Margaret Thatcher, I see Anne Hathaway. I thought men accepted women in their roles today. It just proves the calibre of the men around which I have been brought up. My predetermined role is not in the household. There is no judgement of those who do choose that lifestyle, but it is not a given. Women are not a category you can label in that way. We are all different and we are all wonderful.

Besides, if it were any of anyone else's business - and this is the point I had been considering before - why is it a problem to be unsure what I want to do with my life, or who I want to love, whether I want to sleep or to dance around my flat, or what I want to read, watch, listen to? It is not. You can be certain of everything you think about, but it does not necessarily get you any further. In the last month or two, despite normally having to come to a decision about topics whirring on in my brain in order to ease my frustration, I have realised it is alright to not be sure about things, even those that are seemingly life-changing. Sometimes it will just come to you naturally later and all will make more sense.

It is fair to say that this whole incident lit a fire. It is an anecdote I will not forget in a hurry. And if I were to add one more thing, it would be this: regardless of who is physically stronger, the really strong thing men can do is to call other men out on their unacceptable behaviour and to acknowledge women for what they are. That is capable, individual, and independent. That is how we will eradicate this behaviour.