Unexpected moments in unplanned places
On conversations I had with strangers - Slow Solo Travel Series
I’m sitting between people and suitcases on the floor of a train somewhere between Berlin and Munich, Germany. I can’t help but think about life, luck, randomness and destiny. Humanity. The way we relate and interact is so unique compared to other species on our beautiful planet Earth. For example, we don’t typically walk up to people for a curious chat for no real reason. However, many slide into interesting people’s direct messages on social media without a second thought.
Deep, personal and engaging conversations can happen in the most unexpected places. Not online where there are fewer boundaries. I mean in our real life. Offline. It baffles me sometimes how two very different lives, people whose paths would never overlap somehow cross here on the train, in the shared experience of delays, cancellations, lost seat bookings, blocked toilets, and tired children.
We all have stories on this train and create one together, a short story of sorts. We’ll be inhaling the same air for a few hours and then likely never again.
Sure, occasionally, people might find love, make new friends or bump into an acquaintance. I’ve run into people I know on this cross-country train before and watched others have awkward conversations full of surprise when seeing a familiar face. But usually, the energy in such a space is less inviting for interactions. We watch each other from the corners of our eyes without staring, we listen to private conversations and embarrassing snores. Or we just put headphones in, a clear sign we do not want to be talked to. Or doze off or pretend we do.
Today it’s different.
A living room environment, almost. We look out for each other. On any other journey, we would likely not do so. We swap seats to give others a chance to rest their tired legs. We talk. Starting with wonders about why our original train got cancelled, where we’re headed, how we get there now… Practicalities. Deeper conversations sometimes follow after the initial warm-up.
I’m sitting on the floor, eyes closed, thinking.
Opening my eyes occasionally, typing notes on my phone before leaning back against the glass door between compartments. Next to me, on the other side of the glass is a young man, watching a family near the entrance. I am impressed too. No screens in sight. The parents are so relaxed while pulling book after book, board game after game from their bags. They must have only travelled with their toys, I don’t see any big luggage. I giggle at the thought. The young man is leaning over, looking at the memory game, trying to join in. But he’s not invited the young boy is absorbed in the cards.
We’re all tired and trying to pass the time somehow.
The kids have the best time and their energy is rubbing off on all adults nearby. We laugh together as train staff bring chocolates and check on the family. “Are you doing okay, shall I ask others to leave you their seats?” The mom responds, saying that they’re settled and happy on the floor. The older boy adds “Yes, it’s so comfy, we love it”. Laughter all around.
Squashed between the last seat and the glass door, a gap where suitcases are usually unlovingly pushed into, I can’t fully agree with the boy. I had a seat but gave it away within 30 Minutes as I saw an older woman who looked exhausted. She was so grateful and told me as soon as she sat down that she was worried about having to stand for hours, she’d be too old for the floor. Bless her.
Truthfully, I also offered my seat because I was tired and didn’t want to have conversations all evening. I am a bit embarrassed to admit that I didn’t want to practice German with the kind, grey-haired Ukranian man all 4.5 hours of the journey.
He had talked to me on the platform already. He needed help in regards to his booking and I’m fluent when it comes to navigating travel cancellations.
I explained things to him while being reserved and quiet. He asked for my name, I said Carmen, in discomfort. “Oh, the Opera”. I smiled. He shared his but I couldn’t be bothered to remember the name. Why should I? Our lives crossed only for a few moments… I thought.
Long story short, our train got cancelled, I walked with him to another platform where we were hoping to get onto the next train. When we finally got onto this train, he saved me a seat. He could have just run off but didn’t, he waited for me. In my seat, I slowly started to relax. He wasn’t hitting on me like I’ve experienced in other places while travelling alone. He just wanted to talk. But because I still didn’t open up and talk more, he showed photos of his beautiful family and home that they had fled. The cute ginger-haired cats that they had to leave behind. I swallowed. I didn’t know how to respond. Too much I wanted to say. But in simplified words so he would understand me? I was overwhelmed. He gave up everything for their safety and here I am, living my comfortable life, not even remembering his name from an hour ago.
Despite being an extroverted introvert, I used to actively seek out these conversations, especially on trains, planes and buses. When I want to, I am great at networking and making small talk no matter how much it drains me. I met the most fascinating people all over the world, some stories I still hold in my heart to this day.
Hours later, already past 10 pm, I waved goodbye to him now standing on the platform as the train was rolling out of the station. I still had one more hour to go. I will never see him again. I hope he found his connection train and eventually made it into his wife’s and daughter’s arms before midnight.
I got home all fine.
As I am typing my fragmented notes into sentences the next day, I think about how kind he was. He had such gentle eyes. I cannot imagine him fighting in the war against Russia amongst other fathers in their 50s. Men just like him. No matter whether in the Ukraine, Gaza or other war-torn countries.
I think of the Swedish-Iraki girls I met on a bus trip in Israel 10 years ago, and how I visited them in East Jerusalem later - because why not? I was spontaneous and had trust in humans. I was young, curious and a bit naive. And now? How did I become so tired of conversations with strangers before they even started? How come I prefer a podcast to human interaction these days?
I seek no answers.
I am just pondering over exploratory questions as I push the ugly memories and the dogy situations to the back of my head. I always made it out safely in all 15 years of solo travelling and met incredible humans. That’s all that matters today.
Today I just want to cherish the people who inspired and touched me. I know I could have done “a better job” at asking good questions and actively keeping the conversations flowing. But the nature of these is exactly that: the imperfect exchange. Because of and for no other reason than that we are humans full of great qualities and flaws.
Conversations with strangers happen often in places where people move through. Places of transaction that are occasionally filled with humanness, stories and intimate conversations but most often just empty moments of meaningless exchange.
All we can do is recognise these moments and breathe life into them. It’s up to us and there’s no right or wrong.
I would love to open the chat and invite you to join the exchange below this post. I would love to hear your stories, dear reader community.
What memorable conversations with strangers have you had? Do you avoid them at all costs or are you seeking them out proactively?
I’ve never thought of that: listening to podcasts of two people talk instead of talking to people ourselves
I have done both. Avoided some, and initiated some. I’m not sure what prompted either response from me. I’ve been a therapist in private practice for more than 30 years, and there are times when I simply do not want to listen any longer. (I love my profession, but listening for a living has some limitations).
I can recall odd times with strangers in Europe (I’m from the US). I had learned Dutch fluently while I lived there for nine months. I took one of those insanely strange student vacations which involved riding on an all night bus to Copenhagen from Amsterdam. I sat with a young Dutch man who spoke a smattering of English and conversational French, 2 Swedish girls in their teens who spoke a wee bit of French, and me who spoke Dutch and English. It was a long long bus ride, and we laughed most of the way as we “spoke” and “translated” with our gestures. All I can now recall was the laughter so deep that my face ached. We arrived in Copenhagen at 2 am, and all the hostels were closed. We decided to stick together until sunrise. It was a good thing we did.