People make places make character
I have an itch to write, and it visits only once in a very shy blue moon, so I must indulge it. There’s this half-formed narrative on Japan lingering in my drafts, and it’s been some time since I visited, so I can’t quite recall the details to finish the piece. Had I seen it through, though, I know what I would have written about — the people that make Japan and set it so far apart from anything I’ve ever experienced. That’s it almost always, isn’t it? Yes, going places is seeing the marvels of the world and a lesson in history, often stunning and surprising. But what makes travel most enriching are the fleeting connections we forge, the intimate encounters with strangers that offer glimpses into lives far removed from our own – the kindness of a stranger on the street, a particularly chatty cab driver, warm airbnb hosts, the sight of happy old people. This dawned on me even more starkly during my recent travels through the UK. I’m thinking of,
On my last day in London, after waking at 3 am for my first day back at work post-vacation, I stepped out way past noon for my first meal of the day. Dazed, I arrived at a highly raved-about cafe in the neighbourhood. A hearty meal later, when it was time to pay, I realised I’d forgotten my wallet at the hotel. I panicked — this wasn’t my country, nobody knew me, I had never been in such a situation. I worked out a couple of options for an online transfer and approached the staff, nearly hyperventilating. Calmly, the server heard me out and conferred with the owner, who was sitting right there, also eating. He came over, with a gentle smile assured me and proposed I return with my wallet later. That’s it, no questions asked. I thanked him profusely but also checked, multiple times, if he was sure. I was stunned at how uncomplicated kindness is. When I returned to pay, he laughed at me and said “but how could you wander around without your wallet in a foreign country?”
In Edinburgh, I crossed paths with many strangers who struck conversations with me while I ate alone, obliged to take my photo because there was no one to, chased after me to return forgotten AirPods, let me stay on a reserved train seat because it was my first time in Scotland and I must absolutely enjoy the views.
As I raced against time to finish a tour of the York Minster, squeeze in a stop at a renowned chocolate shop, return to my hotel, grab my luggage, check-out and make it in time for my train out of the city, all in 30 mins, I placed all my hopes on my Uber driver whose business it wasn’t at all to go along with this frantic plan. He could drop me at the hotel where the ride would have ended and bother no more. Only he didn’t. I found him waiting outside as I rushed out with my belongings. Not only did he drop me at the station in time, he wouldn’t charge me for the extra-leg, saying in Pakistani Punjabi “rehn deyo” (Leave it).
In Bath, our airbnb host graciously offered to drive both my friend and me to the station to ensure we wouldn’t miss our train (I promise this isn’t a pattern, I’m usually on time). Oh, and a friend of a friend who had joined us for the day, did not mock but sweetly helped two noob-swimmers enjoy an evening at the pool while also indulging in my penchant for exploring every nook of the bath/spa house.
At Stonehenge, a Romanian cab driver who drove us to the entrance of the Stones patiently waited, without complaining, beyond the agreed-upon hour it took us to sightsee and return.
Finally, there are friends with whom you are in long-distance friendships and meet after ages, surreally in Oxford, only to effortlessly slip back into familiarity. She insisted on cooking me a meal as a parting gift, after a long, exhausting day of multiple train rides and an arduous hike.
