Unforgettable People

Yesterday I recalled some of the wonderful scenes I have witnessed while travelling. I have been trying to remind myself to be thankful for the adventures I have had, rather than dwelling on the far-flung worlds I have not yet had the chance to enter. Just a little travel will prove to you that unforgettable interactions are everywhere. I’m writing about a few of these today.

Town Pride

The town clock tower, Pinoso, Spain, April 2015

All was still as we wandered the deserted streets of the traditional Spanish town of Pinoso in the middle of siesta. We knew nothing about the town, we had simply decided to stretch our legs on a long journey back to the coast.

A lone figure emerged from a side street, unmissable in his fluorescent council garb. He wanted to help us with directions, but we had no destination. He was insistent that he should show us their clock tower. It escapes me now, how we even managed this most basic of communication without our host speaking a word of English.

He made us wait while he ran down the street to retrieve the over-sized key, which he trustingly handed straight to us. He pointed out the houses of other English people as we made our way to the tower.

He showed us every aspect of the tower, made us sign the guestbook, and took way more pictures of us than we needed. We climbed the tight winding staircase up through a hatch, to be met with a far more glorious view than anticipated. You could see for miles in every direction. The whole time our new friend was rattling away in Spanish. With the fraction we could interpret and a lot of pointing, we picked up the gist. One of his jobs was to wind the historic clock, so we both got a go.

On the way out he managed to get one of his English friends on the phone and made us speak with them. It was a bizarre experience telling one stranger about the tour another stranger had given us. I assume our friend wanted to have our feedback interpreted!

I have to be honest, I felt some concern following an unknown man, when I didn’t fully know what was going on. This was magnified by having the door to the clock tower locked behind us. It did cross my mind that there could easily be others in the tower, ready to demand money. Yet, at the end of our impromptu tour, our guide flatly refused to be given a cent. This fascinating stranger had jumped at the chance to show us around, probably in his own siesta time, purely out of love for his job and pride in his town. It made a place that I could easily have forgotten, unforgettable.

Full to Bursting

The souks by night, Fes, Morocco, April 2016

It had been a long day of travelling and, although I was still enthralled by the colourful clamour of the passageways of Fes, we were very ready to find our riad and put our heavy bags down. There are no street names in the mazes of these old cities. Some opportunistic young men in the streets of Fes try to force themselves onto tourists as tour guides, navigating only to their friend’s businesses, or as a way of demanding money. We were a bit weary of these confrontations, but we were soon to have our faith completely restored in the locals.

We tried asking a little café owner for directions, but he didn’t know. He called across the street to another local. I groaned inwardly, thinking he had summoned one of the tourist snatchers, as I like to call them. However, my apprehension was misplaced. When the second man didn’t know either, a chain was started among all the stall owners crammed into the area.

Tipping for every service is an accepted practice in a country where visitors usually have so much more than the locals and the exchange rate is ridiculously in our favour. Yet the café owner wasn’t interested. In the end, a man called the riad for us, walked us to the door, and spoke to the owners to introduce us. He accepted our coins, but didn’t seem to expect it.

Later that night we decided that if the café owner wouldn’t take our tip, we should offer our business. It was late, so we asked for coffee, which he happily agreed to. As he made our drinks over a hob, I suspected that it was not his usual offering. He ducked out of his own little space and came back with donuts of some sort from another seller for both us and himself, evidently to compliment the coffee he doesn’t usually sell. We deduced some food he then gave out without charge was a swap.

In between customers we chatted as much as we could with limited French, rather than our non-existent Arabic. It was the end of the evening and we were stuffed full of food, but we couldn’t say no to trying bits of all his hot treats.

We would have paid him whatever he asked and I’m sure he knew that, regardless he only requested a very humble sum. Even with a substantial tip, it wouldn’t have covered one coffee in England. We went to sleep that night glowing with the warmth of the local people and amazed by the wonderful sense of community we had witnessed.

In Sickness and in Health

The South West Coast Path, Cornwall, July 2016

You don’t need to go far to find people who will go out of their way to help you. On a hiking holiday in Cornwall I was blown away again and again by the goodwill of strangers. After a long day of walking we were dying for a tasty treat and ordered some decadent food at a little trail-side café; the first sign of civilisation we had seen all day. We soon realised we had no way to pay as their card machine had no signal. With a complete lack of fuss we were permitted to order as much as we wanted, with only our word that we would pay by bank transfer when we had internet signal.

A couple of days later my husband fell dreadfully sick and couldn’t go on. Our B&B hosts were happy to pick us up whenever we arrived at the end of our trail. They fussed over my husband and let us check out late. The next morning our host drove us to our next accommodation, waited while I settled my partner in and then drove me back to where we were meant to be continuing from, so I wouldn’t miss my walk. All of this was treated as routine and incurred no extra cost.

Music in the Mountains

Traditional music in the hills of Donegal, Ireland, October 2016

What is ordinary for one person can be extraordinary for another. We were staying recently with Airbnb hosts off the beaten track in the hills of Donegal in Ireland. They took us out in the evening to a little pub in the area. I can’t remember the name of the town, if I ever even knew it in the first place. Local people, young and old, assemble there to play traditional music. There is no set group, whoever turns up plays together. The musicians stop and chat over their drinks, before someone starts a tune and gradually everyone joins in.

What we witnessed was no show for tourists, like you might find in some city pubs. The music was not for an audience at all, most of the people in the pub were playing. The racing pace of Irish music filled the room with energy, as a dog somehow managed to remain perched on its owner’s lap, unperturbed by the speeding arms above it.

Yet for me the most poignant were the quieter moments, where softer folk songs were sung. You just get a sense of the timeless tradition, where tales are passed from one generation to the next.

A Stranger on the Common

Me among the ruins of Donnington Castle, Snelsmore Common, England, 2012

I was fresh off the plane from Australia and just settled into a home in the woods. I was told that I would need someone to teach me the way into town across the common or I would get dreadfully lost. Lo and behold, a young Englishman was happy to show me the way. Off we set, making our way through the maze of paths. It soon came to light that my Englishman had never walked this way before and what’s more, was no fan of walking itself. Yet his natural sense of direction meant I was not led astray and his audacity had me laughing all the way. I was taken aback to stumble upon castle ruins, casually strewn in the field, accessible to all. This was certainly not part of my everyday in Australia. We didn’t get lost, but I lost my heart to this stranger on the common.