Overheard at the Edinburgh Airport

The four women behind me in the security line at Edinburgh airport were discussing having their carry-on luggage inspected. One woman commented, “I make sure I have all my liquids, and anything else they might be concerned about, out of my bag because I don't want them going through me knickers.” One of her companions retorted, “I just have new ones that I have taken out of the package yet, so they won’t.”

A Conversation about Life and Death in Ancient Egypt

At a special exhibit on ancient Egyptian burials at the National Museum of Scotland, I was looking at the sarcophagus of the priest Nehemsumut, circa 840-815 BC. There was a group of grade one children, on a class outing, in the same area. I was pressed by the assignment sheets they were using as a lesson examining burial practices and using impressive vocabulary words. A little boy, with blond hair, wearing his school uniform blue jumper, engaged me in an earnest conversation:

Boy: That's a mummy.

Me: Yes. It is very cool, isn't it?

Boy: You know the mummy in there is still alive!

Me: Are you sure?

Boy: Yes. He’s really alive!

Boy’s friend: (with analytical skepticism) I think he’s dead.

Me: (nodding, earnestly) I think he is dead too. 

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.”

Translating English (Part 4)

I was having dinner in Paisley sitting next to an elderly Australian couple making plans for the following day. She was spending the trip researching ancestry in Scotland and told the server that her family had emigrated from Scotland in the 1930s. Now she was working on her husband’s family. Later, after not paying attention for quite a while, I noticed that the man was trying to teach his wife how to say “American,” with an American accent: uh-mur-a-cun. She was trying to make the E a long E and could not quite get the hang of it.

Overheard in Lerwick

I was in a shop that specializes in fishing equipment, work clothes, and tourist items. It was, what the locals would call, a bright day. As a matter of perspective, to myself and the widget on smartphone, it was 55F and mostly cloudy with patches of blue. There were some rain clouds in the distance. As such, this was the exchange I heard:

Local man buying provisions: “It’s a beautiful day.”

Female shop attendant: “Yes. I wish summer could be like this every day.” (Pause with a slight sigh) “You live and hope.”

Cultural Differences

We see differences in cultural expectations when traveling quite often. I once heard Martha Nussbaum say that Americans wander through the world as if they already knew all about it. They are blind to the hopes, needs, and desires of others. My observation is that Americans tend to be friendly, outgoing, and, on the surface, polite. But there is a tendency to temporarily claim ownership over various pieces of public property. Often not meaning to be so, the effect is rude. There is a tendency for Americans, particularly young Americans, to drape their feet over the arms of chairs, put their feet upon couches, and to take up as much room in public spaces as they wish. It is difficult for them to fathom that others would prefer not to sit in seats with the residuals of their shoes on their nice, clean clothes. I have observed Americans as incredulous that anyone would suggest seats, and adjacent seats, be treated as public space. As far as some are concerned, sitting in the seat renders it their property for the duration of their stay.

It would be unfair to think only young people engage in such behavior. Sitting at breakfast, in Belfast, I shared the dining area with a group of American students who greeted their Irish guide, one by one, with a cheerful, “Good morning Shane!” As with many university trips, there were some adults in the group as well. Shane was seated at the common table with me, drinking a cup of tea and checking his messages before the day’s activities. A middle-aged man from the group walked up to Shane and pulled his metal tea infuser from his tea cup and asked, “Why do you have a paperclip in your cup?” Obviously, he thought this was funny, but it was overly familiar. Shane was more polite and good-humored about the situation than I would have been; he patiently explained that he liked a special type of tea, but he was cut off by the man who began inquiring about the itinerary for the day. Within a few minutes the same man pulled out a chair and joined a group of students, but completely blocked in people on my side of the common table. When I went to get a refill of coffee, his wife called his attention to his inconvenience and he looked at me and said that I could squeeze through.

Kalervo Oberg described culture shock as what happens when you travel and find that things are not as you expect. Perhaps I just think people should be on their best behavior when traveling and am surprised when they are not. 

Homeless in Washington DC

Not long ago, Washington DC was considered a medium-sized city, free from many of the problems that plaque larger cities. Yet, that is not the case today. Like many other cities across the United States, Washington faces the challenge of a significant homeless population.

Recently, as Angie and I walked back to the hotel, we saw men bedding down for the evening outside the McPherson Square Metro Station, just one thousand feet from the White House. I was reminded of being in DC at a conference in the mid-1980s, when the homeless crisis in the city exploded. Walking around at night, I was with a group of fellow classmates from college. Donna was extremely excited about a shoe store we have come across and ran up to a window to survey shoes that were way beyond the means of our group collectively. Her squeals of glee turned to a scream of fright when she tripped over a previously unseen homeless man sleeping in the doorway for warmth. She ran down the street in horror at the encounter. I am not sure that the poor man even moved. The incident left an indelible mark on my memory. Donna was shaken by the experience, but I often think about the man whose sleep was interrupted. What of him?  Growing up in Louisville I was familiar with the occurrence and situation of homeless people. That was not the case for many of my college peers. We were but college kids, carefree, who had experienced an uncomfortable interaction. On the other hand, here was a man in desperate need of rest. In my imagination, I am fairly certain that the future of the man did not end well.

A confused man followed Angie and me for a few blocks near Federal Triangle. He intimated that President Trump had been snorting cocaine during the election (“he was always sniffing during speeches”). He rambled on, without much coherency about attending Liberty College and that he was a military general secretly working for the federal government for free. Later, he was upset that he could not get a job. There was a flash of a temptation to ask about the contradiction of having a secret job and being unable to secure employment, but I knew better than to ask that question or any others. His diatribe was interspersed with assurances that he was not going to harm us. At one point Angie assured him that we trusted him.

In one of his more evocative and bizarre claims, he related a story of how he advised “him,” it was unclear who this person of authority might be, that the government should plan to evacuate Montana and “take all the people” to Nova Scotia or, seemingly correcting himself after a pause of a few seconds, Vancouver. His paranoia was such that he was concerned about a group of people a continent away and moving them to another country. A confused plan for confused times.