Barbra

I met an inspirational lady the other day.
I was walking down to Tesco, randomly smiling at strangers (as I do,) and a lady walking her dog stopped to ask me for directions to the local Buddhist centre. Having only lived in here a short while, I only knew a few places in town. Surprisingly, the Buddhist centre was one of them.
As I led her down a side street we started talking. It turns out we were both interested in the meditation classes that the Buddhist centre gave on a Wednesday night. I hadn't managed to get there yet as I was usually too tired (i.e. lazy ) from work and it went quite late. Barbara had two bus rides to get to and from the Buddhist centre but had managed to go several times. She encouraged me to go check it out. It turns out she was dropping by today to enquire about volunteering her skills in remedial massage to anyone who might need it. I have always wanted to learn massage and I have often enquired about volunteering. However, similar to the meditation, it was something I had yet to accomplish.

Barbara asked me about myself and where I was from. Perhaps because a stranger was leading her down an alley, or perhaps because she was nice, she always managed to turned the conversation back to me. Wanting to know more about where I was from, what I did for work and why I was in England. "To see the world," was my reply. She always seem genuinely interested in what I was saying.

We reached our destination and I gave her dog a pat, a beautiful black Labrador cross, he wasn't even a year old and had that excited puppy demeanour.
I felt guilty that I was off to Tesco to buy takeaway dinner and beer, while she was staying till after dark in a town far from home to volunteer her skills to people that she hadn't met yet. I said my goodbyes and genuinely said that I hoped I would see her again. She said she might run into me at the meditation classes. I started walking back down the alley, deep in my thoughts and my perception altered.

I turned back to watch her walk through the door, her cane lightly tapping the ground and her dog excitedly pulling her along. Did I mention she was blind?

The faces of my morning

Every morning on my walk to the train station I pass several commuters going the other way.

I'm not sure if it is my small town heritage, but when I first started passing them I would say hi. This was greeted with either a) awkward sideways glances, b) completely ignoring me or c) a vague smile that somehow conveyed, 'are you going to mug me?' I have not once got a "good morning" back, and subsequently I no longer try.

My favourite daily fellow commuter is a portly middle aged Englishman who looks increasingly stressed out as he walks towards me, he physically turns his head away from me, while looking towards to sky, so it is absolutely impossible to meet his eye..

I think it's important to note here that I'm not the mugging type, nor do I look like it. I also live in a relatively small English town, not a large crime filled city.

So why are we so afraid of talking to or even acknowledging each other? In large cities the close proximity to hundreds of people in the daily commute has created a culture where we treat each other like inanimate, potentially dangerous objects. Ignore and avoid eye contact at all costs. I often smile when I catch random commuters eyes or try to start conversations, such as "I like your ..." or "Where are you off to today?" The later is often greeted with the vague mugger smile..

I found this concept exceedingly difficult on the New York subway. Everyone seemed so interesting. I would smile or say hi, which would be greeted with a "what choo looking at?" or the universal mugger smile. My friend from New York advised that I was probably going to get mugged/beaten/abused if I didn't stop talking to strangers. I can't help it, they're just a friend I haven't met yet!

The only exception to the rule that is other people who are "not from here." (A well known phrase to any immigrant.) As a person also not from here, we seem to be able to connect about not being from here and other subjects such as where we are from and where we are going next.

As I'm sitting on public transport, staring at random strangers as though I'm going to mug them, I wonder how many of these people use social media, such as blogs like this, to send their personal private thoughts out into the ether. Why are we able to talk to random strangers and share our opinions through a keyboard, but not face-to-face?

Perhaps this video will shed some light on this...

http://youtu.be/tTN9We8unmU 

Through social media we are able to share thoughts about everything without social prejudice or etiquette. There are lots of these type of videos out there, and they all illustrate the same point. Computers have an off button for a reason.

So when you next see a stranger and make eye contact, smile, say hello, acknowledge them for the person that they are, but remember ... it's not twitter, use the brain to mouth filter..

A lunch in Paris

I wandered into the back streets of Paris to find a true French restaurant. Not a touristy version. By the time I found one (that wasn't full of Americans) I was starving.
‘Bonjour, parley voou Inglash?’ My French had marginally improved since I had arrived, but my Australian accent made it sound woeful even to my ears. The matron smiled and replied ‘Oui, would you like to see a menu?’ I smiled, finally a friendly Parisian. ‘Oui!’ I said a little too excited. Unfortunately the menu was in French. I could read enough to guess what I was ordering, but not everything. The hostess saw my struggling and was happy to translate. I ordered a cappuccino, roast duck and a salad. Like I said, I was starving! I took a seat at the front of the restaurant. Most cafes and restaurants in Paris have rows of wicker seats facing the street where people can sit, eat, gossip and watch the world go by. I sat and watched the rain fall down from the candy stripped awning and on to the street. I couldn’t help think that it was all so romantic.
I removed my map from my bag and started thinking about my return to my hostel. I had three hours until my airport pick up was due. I had seen a large amount of Paris in the last 2 days and I wasn't sure what I wanted to see next.

A man behind me asked if I needed help with directions and introduced himself as Pierre. Strange how he didn't even try to speak French to me...

He was in his late thirties with olive skin and think black hair. Although he was a Parisian, he had worked in New York and had a delightful French American accent when he spoke English. He told me about living in Paris and we discussed the celebrations happening around the city for Bastille's day.
My lunch arrived and the conversation halted while I ate. Perhaps a little rude, but French food deserves your full attention. Delicious is an understatement.
The duck fell off the bone and was extremely succulent, yet not at all greasy. The roast potato had a crisp outer with an inner consistency of creamy mashed potato and hint of rosemary. The salad was fresh with an amazingly tangy cream dressing. Even the cappuccino was incredible. I ate until I couldn’t put another bite in my mouth for fear that it would all come out. My eyes begged me to stuff more of it in and I was contemplating staying at the café until I was hungry again.
Pierre interrupted my thoughts of gluttony with a suggestion that we visit an art gallery not far from the restaurant. An elderly Parisian lady sitting in the row in front of me commented that it was a beautiful art gallery and, in a way that only the French can, told me I absolutely had to go! Pierre offered to take me there. Although I would have loved to go, I declined as I had something else I wanted to do in Paris, that definitely couldn’t involve Pierre. Buy French underwear! And besides, after Spain, London and Italy, I was kind of at the end of my art gallery limit.
My stomach bulging and my appetite sated I said my Adieus and waddled off along the cobblestone streets of Paris.