Kindness

Standing atop Arthur’s Seat in Edinburgh a few weeks ago, I met Tam and Jan. The three of us struck up a conversation after Tam was enthusiastically asking everyone who was their favorite NFL team. He was an American football enthusiast and there were plenty of Americans at the summit that morning. I am not sure how Jan got into this conversation since he was leading a group of Dutch high school students to Edinburgh, but this is the nature of unexpected encounters. Tam was a life-long resident of Edinburgh and, clearly, very proud of his city. He said he had not been to the top of Arthur’s Seat since he was a boy and that he promised himself that once he retired he would again walk up to the top.

Tam was musing about being on the top of Arthur’s seat and all the different people, from all over the world were there sharing in the moment, taking photographs, meeting each other, and having a good time. It made him very proud that people would come to Edinburgh and share in this experience. It was very different from what people saw on the news about people. Jan and I agreed that wherever we traveled people tended to be nice, friendly and considerate. I commented that it was a very few people who made it difficult for the rest of us.

It seems to be universal that most people are kind to travelers. The kindness and generosity of people has been in great evidence on the trip this year. In Leigh Fermor’s account of walking across Europe in the 1930s, he found people were incredibly kind and generous. For example, a gift of eggs from a young girl, offers of a place to stay, food, parties, tours, and encouragement of all types were a theme in his books. The most intriguing events, however, were the times when he would misplace, leave behind, or lose his journal. When this would happen people invariably kept the notebooks where he recorded his thoughts, musings, ideas, and the languages he was trying to learn. In one case, a lost journal reappeared thirty years later. During the turbulent times that would come after his journey across Europe, a world war occurred, the onset of communist regimes made communication difficult, and deaths, births and marriages all occurred. Life happened, ‘twas ever thus.

On this trip, I have had similar stories, although nothing as dramatic as Leigh Fermor. At Newark Airport, before leaving on my flight to Europe, I had dinner at Chinese dumpling restaurant. Toward the end of my dinner I was interrupted by a student’s inquiry. Thirty minutes into the flight I looked for my notebook to continue making notes. I could not find it and had a sinking feeling that I left it behind in the airport restaurant. At the first opportunity, I looked in my rucksack in the overhead bin – no luck. Obviously, that early in the trip, the journal did not have many entries, but I had made several research notes, notations and plans. Certainly, a loss; but not a disaster.

Fate intervened. Two and a half hours into the flight, as we neared St. Johns, Newfoundland, the pilot announced that one of the guidance systems for the airplane was not was working. Because regulations require a backup when flying across the Atlantic, we would have to fly back to Newark for a replacement. Although an inconvenience, it was serendipitous in terms of my notebook. I returned to the restaurant to be told by a server it was closing; I explained that I was looking for my journal. A young woman came forward and said she wondered if someone would return for it. I handed her a small reward, which she initially refused, but accepted it after I said the least I could do was to buy her a drink or a cup of coffee.

Four weeks later, I was taking a bus to Mousa to see the famous broch. At the small history and information point near the dock, I reached for my notebook to jot down some interesting points. After a few minutes of searching my pockets and backpack, I came to the realization that I must have left it on the bus after I had been jotting down observations and places I would like to visit during the trip. On the boat, I was stewing about my forgetfulness, especially considering my adventures at Newark. This time, even though it was my second notebook of the trip, the loss of notes would be more substantial. I was giving myself a pep talk, see the broch, take notes on your phone, when we arrived at the island of Mousa, and I will inquire about the notebook later. The son, and assistant captain, came out on deck and said, “Those of you who rode the bus down today, someone left a pad of paper and pen…” I confessed it was me. “Good,” he said. I’ll give you the bus driver’s name and number and you can decide where to meet him. I had a wonderful time on Mousa, occasionally concerned that I might have written something that would have been taken out of context. When the excursion returned to the mainland I called Robbie, the bus driver. He asked where I was staying and he told me to meet him at a bus stop near my hotel at about a quarter to six. He warned that he was on the return trip from the airport in Sumburgh, and that he may be a few minutes late, depending on how many people were getting on the bus at the airport. Nevertheless, the number 6 bus arrived right on time. Even as the bus was rolling to a stop, Robbie was reaching under his seat to retrieve my notebook. I handed him a £10 note and said I wanted to him to have a pint or a cup of coffee on me. He smiled, thanked me, and said, “it was no bother.”