#4 Conversations With Strangers
Sydney has been in lockdown for the past few weeks so my mind has been taking its own journeys, traversing the lands of my travel memories. It occurred to me that despite my fondness for enjoying the natural beauty in relative solitude, the memories that are etched most deeply into my consciousness are the ones involving encounters with strangers. So this week I will share just a few of them.
Dark Paris
One of the first major trips I ever took without my parents was at the end of 2006, the year I graduated high school. My dear friend Daniel and I decided that a two-month trip across Europe was a fitting conclusion of our school years and a hopeful initiation to life as newly minted adults. Whenever I think back to the trip, it has retained a certain charm that was only possible before the days of digital omnipotence. We were armed with one lonely planet guidebook and my patchy memories of a trip with my parents a few years earlier. Despite our general ignorance, the trip was immeasurably rewarding. It opened my eyes to the menagerie of cultures that occupied that part of the world, with all its wonders and flaws.
We ate at restaurants that would certainly be considered tourist traps today and yet, we loved it all, every overpriced euro’s worth. We devoured as many ancient relics, football stadiums and random Chinese eateries as we could (because our body’s reserves of rice were depleted). In short, it was one of those trips that we still reminisce about over 15 years later.
There was one encounter that didn't belong with the wholesome fun. Whenever I recall it, I have to pause and consider whether it actually happened because it was so jarring.
Dan and I were standing at a Parisian train station, waiting for a connection and I noticed a man staring at us, cracking half a smile. It wasn’t one of those smiles that invited you to reciprocate but it pulled us into his orbit and there was no escape. He approached us and asked where we were from and how our trip had been but it was clear he was just segueing to his real sales pitch. Neither of us was ready for what he was selling.
“You like boys?” He enquired.
“Ah… sorry?” I heard him clearly but was hoping he had asked something else, like “you want drugs?”
“You like boys? I have many little boys for you to …” He stopped himself as he registered our shock.
His eyes darted rapidly, as though he was all of a sudden naked and wanted to make sure no one noticed him in that state.
Then he was gone, disappearing into the crowd.
To this day I don’t know what to make of this encounter. If the rest of our trip was a showcase for the wonders of our world, this moment was a reminder that it is also a very complicated one.
One man’s treasures
In 2019, My wife Sandra and I drove 3000 KM across the African nation of Namibia for our belated honeymoon. Up until that moment, Africa was a complete mystery to me. Whenever I mentioned Namibia to people, the most common response I received was “Don’t die.” Having successfully kept my life, I can confidently say that our experience couldn’t have been more life-affirming rather than life-risking.
Namibia sits on the southwest coast of the African continent (to the left to Botswana and above South Africa for any geography simpletons like myself). I can go on for days about its awe-inspiring grandeur but there is one particular encounter (among many) that has stayed with me.
I have a saying I like reminding myself whenever I become dissatisfied with a particular situation in my life.
All lives are possible.
It just means that there is no one-size-fits-all blueprint to a fulfilled life. Although our world is filled with misery of all kinds, I believe it is also filled with joy. We just have to find ours. It can come in all shapes and sizes and we needn’t get caught up in pessimism for too long because we possess the agency to change it.
Namibia taught me that lesson on a few occasions but none more so than a place called Mesosaurus Fossil Site in Keetmanshoop. It is a rural property spanning across 7500 acres with a few humble guest huts and a completely isolated bush campsite. I have been to quite a few places in my time that I would describe as the middle of nowhere but this place may actually deserve that hyperbole. We chose to make the trip there because Sandra is a connoisseur of strange and unique plants (a hobby I've since come to appreciate). The campsite was surrounded by enormous block-shaped dolerite rocks and an estimated 5000 quiver trees. These strange botanical specimens look like they were materialised into being based on a verbal description of a generic tree by a five-year-old.
The site is also known for the presence of Mesosaurus Fossils (a freshwater crocodile-esque creature that lived in these parts almost 300 million years ago). They were discovered on the property accidentally by its owner Giel Steenkamp when excavating for agricultural purposes a few decades ago. Since that discovery, he has spent a considerable amount of time studying the fossils and their history, culminating in various university publications and this endearing place.
As far as I could tell, this place and these fossils were Giel’s life and have been for a good chunk of his existence on earth. For the amusement of visitors, he plays the tune of Frère Jacques by tapping a small stone on different sized dolerite rocks and proudly announcing that he is the youngest fossil on the property. The reason why this interaction has stayed with me is that Giel struck me as one of the most joyful humans I’ve ever met. Perhaps it’s the wisdom that comes with age, perhaps it’s the calming effects of the endless Namibian plain. It was clear that despite the isolation and simplicity, fulfilment found a home here.
Effortless Cool
Over a decade ago, my friend Stuart and I travelled to Brazil as a part of our self-guided tour of South America. There were many revelations made on that trip but my mind always drifts back to a conversation I had with a man named Diego. Too long has passed for me to recall his face or where he came from but a 2 am conversation on the curbside is etched into my memories.
Diego was charismatic and musically talented. He had a great sense of humour and didn’t take himself too seriously. He was just one of those travellers that you wanted to be your friend from the moment you met him. He also had a patchwork of tattoos down his right (or left) arm that gave him an outlaw biker feel. It’s funny how overt signals often determine our perception of someone’s character. Days leading up to this conversation, Diego laughed and bonded with the rest of our impromptu group. My sense of him was that he was effortlessly relaxed and egolessly funny.
One night in Rio, we headed out to watch the rehearsal performance leading up to the annual Carnival festival. Among the cacophony of intoxicating Samba music, Diego and I sat down to give our wearied legs a rest. I remember looking at a particular tattoo on his right arm - an ace of hearts and blurted out the question “what’s that one about”. Over the years, I’ve developed an inclination for asking direct and arguably intrusive questions. I do it because I’m genuinely curious about the person underneath the small talk.
Diego paused. He then began to tell me the story of the moment that came to define his life.
He was engaged once, to a beautiful woman that he adored. They were both into motorcycles but he was into drinking more. On the morning of his marriage, he decided to take his soon-to-be bride out on a ride. It was raining and he was drunk. There were pleas to take it slow and perhaps not even go at all but amidst the drinking and the adrenaline, he didn’t have the faculty to heed warnings.
She died that day and with her, the remainder of his self-control. He told me that he spiraled for a long time and got many of his ‘stupid tattoos’ as a part of that descend. I was struck by his description of his tattoos as stupid because that was also my first undisclosed impression. He said eventually he got to a place, with the help of his family and friends, where he could see the shore again and he has been making the slow swim back ever since.
Each day I spend living, I become more aware that reality is always messier than the articulated story. I know that I have never experienced the type of pain Diego went through and he most certainly will never forget it but now I also understand a part of his effortless cool. He was a man that sank to the bottom of his personal hell and swam back to the surface through sheer will. That type of man isn’t going to care whether he had stupid tattoos.
Big Dick Energy
I leave you this week with a conversation from one of the most unique places I’ve ever visited - the Kingdom of Bhutan. It was the fall of 2017 and I wanted to surprise Sandra with a trip. We were living in Shanghai at the time so I wanted to pick somewhere in Asia. After much research, I decided to go with the place I knew nothing about. Up until this point, I knew Bhutan because of its distinctive dragon flag and Gross National Happiness - its governing political philosophy. Although I am tempted to elaborate on all the truly enchanting things about this country, I will stay the course and only discuss this particular conversation I have in mind.
Travel in Bhutan is quite restrictive for anyone other than a few neighbouring countries. The only way to do so for the rest of us is a pre-organised itinerary, a style of travel I generally stay away from. However, for this particular trip, the benefit of the package was the companion of a pair of excellent human beings that assisted us as our guide and driver.
We drove from one gorgeous site to another. Witnessing the majesty of the Tiger’s Nest Monastery and the splendour of the Haa Valley. The particular conversation I had in mind happened on our walk to Chimi Lhakhang, a temple dedicated to the Buddhist Lama Drukpa Kunley, affectionately named the “divine madman”.
Divine because he slew demons and
a Madman because he did his slaying with his “magic thunderbolt of flaming wisdom.”
AKA his penis.
The village houses surrounding his temple are suitably decorated with murals of various depictions of fanged phalluses, some spitting out lightning and fire. The theory was that these formidable members would ward off any demons. In all honesty, I too would be petrified if I was a demon. There is not much dignity in death by pecker.
Our guide told us that the Madman is also called the saint of 5,000 women and he enlightened them through sexual intercourse. He further explained that Lama Kunley was revered because he was the only lama to show that it was possible to obtain enlightenment without being a celibate prude. He famously declared to anyone who came to him seeking guidance that he would not help them unless they brought with them a beautiful woman and a bottle of wine.
We were about three-quarters of the way to the temple and I had so many questions. At this point of our trip, it was clear to us that Bhutan was a very traditional nation, with citizens of a humble and conservative demeanour. That image was getting a little hard to maintain with the worship of a guy that went around slaying demons with his exaggerated pee-pee and demanding sex as repayment of his hard work (couldn’t help myself).
I asked our guide if he personally considered these stories fictional or historic accounts and he told me without a pause that they were factual events. I am not often lost for words but I was for the rest of the walk up to the temple.
When we got to the temple, we paid our respects at the shrine to the topless portrait of Lama Kunley and a monk came forth, unsheathed an object to reveal a large wooden plonker. Before I could protest, Sandra and I were both schlonged on the forehead and was ceremoniously told that we have been given the blessing of fertility. Looking at the AK47s and the ornamental swords hanging on each side of the shrine, I decided to stop asking questions and appreciate the fact that we live in a wonderful and wacky world.
Last year, we were blessed with the birth of our first child, Noah. I guess we have Lama Kunley’s boner to thank.
