When Girl got off the train in Caen, a major city of Normandy, it had been her 35th day in France.
She had no idea how to get to the hotel that she'd booked, which was in the outskirts of the city. Nevertheless, she was confident that directions could be secured from a station master. this was done, but she was more than a little alarmed on hearing that in order to reach it, she had to first take a tram to a bus station, and then a bus. But Girl reasoned that she'd expected such inconvenience for a cheap hotel, and thanking the stationmaster, she made for the trams.
that part of the journey fared well; after all, the stops were clearly marked out and although Girl didnt have enough coins to buy tickets, nobody checked her for them anyway. Caen's tram system snakes through its city centre, and upon close-up inspection from inside the tram, Girl found that her trepidations about this little-known city were quite unfounded, for it was lovely. It was in the second leg, where Life dealt some shit in her way. (sometimes, Life likes to scoop some manure out of his heap, and fling it arbitrarily into the path of unsuspecting persons.) Girl found out that the only bus she could take to her hotel would next come in an hour, and that there were only 7 every day. Disbelieving, she tried to confirm this with a lone bus driver who was lounging in his bus, but he confirmed this horrible information with the greatest of ease. "Its just an hour,"he smiled, albeit in such a way as to assure her that he did not share her concern, "enough time for you to get a coffee before the next bus."
Girl had forgotten, she was in France.
Well... she did have an hour. maybe she could go back to the city centre to see if it was still possible to get accommodation to another lodging. after all, she had with her the address of the local Office du Tourisme, which matched one of the stops on the tram. in the midst of her distraction, an elderly hobo-looking man approached her and asked if she needed help, as she seemed lost. Girl was grateful for a person to share her woes with, for she had just begun her solo adventure after separating from dear friends, and at the moment she was rather lonely to be coping well with this unpleasantness. As had so often happened in her sojourn in France, she got into a long conversation with the stranger. The French, for the most part, are brought up having the skill of conversation. This hobo-looking gentleman had worked in the English harbours before, and could thus speak a smattering of English. However, his sentiments were purely French. upon hearing the girl's misadventure, he launched into a diatribe on how to live life happily without stress; to spend time to enjoy Normany's beauty, rather than spend time chasing the next attraction. "one hour will soon pass," he lectured, "if you can just sit here and talk to people, like I am now with you, and enjoy the scenery."
Yet from the corner of her eye, Girl could see the tram approaching...stopping...ready to leave in the midst of the man's chatter. she leapt into the tram, sorry to interrupt him, but not understanding why he couldnt continue his grandmotherstory inside the tram.
But the man remained on the platform. Girl and Hoboman looked at each other across the threshold of the tram door, confused. "What are you doing?" both called out. "Where are you going?"
"i'm going back to the city centre to look for the tourism office!" she yelled as the doors began to close.
"BAH!" the man shot back from his side of the tram doors, and as the tram began to move away she could see him visibly fuming, for his visage was stern and his movements erratic.
The girl couldnt understand why he would be so upset over the sudden departure of a newly-met acquaintance, and why he didnt get into the tram if he was waiting for it at the platform. Mulling it over though, she realised she had made a faux-pas in the eyes of the French, who adore the dolce far niente as much as the Italians, and appreciate the simple joie de vivre. She had proven herself a mere tourist, who did not have the heart nor the eyes to appreciate this extra freedom of doing nothing while waiting for the bus, this method of waiting which Hoboman and the bus driver had been suggesting to her, and which she had found so unappealing. It was also later, after meeting several people at platforms, that she realised that the man wasn't waiting for a tram at the platform, but a person. No specific person, just a person to talk to.
when we go back to the basics, what does Maslow recommend on his heirachy of needs? Besides material sustenance, we also crave human companionship. everyone needs it, and knows that they and everyone else around them also needs it. so why is it so hard to show fellow yet foreign humans that we care?
what about the need to do something? is it an inherent human need, to be always in the midst of occupation? why is the idea of waiting an hour for the bus nothing short of pleasant to some cultures, yet so unthinkable to others?
When you go right back to the basics, would you sit at a bus-stop, just to appreciate a beautiful world, and a fleeting few strangers?
