weather talks

Tags

Dublin, Ireland, photo photography, rain, strangers, talk, weather

After more than 24 hours of rain, wet socks, frizzy hair, and damp clothes it’s great to see a little bit of blue poking out between the clouds. Especially since the last two nights have been long and sleepless as the tattoo of heavy rain beating against my window has kept me awake for most of the night.

But no matter how miserable the weather proves to be the thing I enjoy most is the amount of strangers who strike up conversations by stating this obvious fact. On both bus rides to and fro from work – I declined to walk as the weather was just too wet – my seat companion told me in no uncertain terms that we were having  ‘shocking weather’ while their umbrellas dripped puddles onto my already wet shoes. Knowing the rules of the game I, of course,  answered the only way one can: with a pinched smile, a nod, a sigh, and a ‘I know, isn’t awful!’

Our shared commiseration about something we cannot change opened up the floodgates (couldn’t resist the pun) to stories of a few strangers lives. I heard all about the disasters of the paper shopping bags Pennys uses ‘sure they just rip, now me shopping is drowned’  and the splashing cars, bikes and buses soaking ‘me legs’.

While I nodded along to the lamentations I remembered a statistic I read a good while ago. It it it said that Irish people, on average, talk about the weather at least twice a day and 25% of the population even go so far as to talk about the sun and rain four times daily.

I suppose this means that with the ever changing of weather in Ireland at least no one will ever be stumped for conversation and weather talks will stay an easy way to connect.

leaf puddle in my backyard

 

strangers you know

Tags

city, Dublin, friends, Fyodor Dostoevsky, quote, strangers

Dublin is a very walkable capital, you can easily get from A to B within the city center by strolling around. And because of this you do often bump into people you know, stopping for a chinwag quickly becomes a daily occurrence.

But every now and them something odd happens, people who seem to know you and who you kinda, sorta recognize, greet you with big smile and a loud “How ‘re ya?” “Lovely to see you!” or the very Dublin-esque:“What’s the story?” And as you struggle to place their face, knowing you’ll never guess their names, they are very sure about knowing you, even knowing your name.

And just this happened twice to me yesterday, the first was a friendly looking guy, who asked me what I had been up to as he hadn’t seen me for a while. I did sorta, kinda recognize him, just couldn’t quite place him. But after a few hours of rummaging in the recesses of my brain, I figured out that he is the manager of a cafe I sometimes go to.

The sense of relief I felt, when I had finally figured it out, was unbelievable, doubting ones own sanity is really a terrible sensation. But then it happened again.

I was just crossing the road when a stranger, who sorta, kinda, looked familiar greeted me with the exuberance of a long, lost relative. And as he merrily chatted away I couldn’t help but feel at complete and utter loss. Who was this friendly stranger who, was so delighted to run into me?

Hours later and I still don’t know who this person was, nor have I even got the faintest of notions from where I could possibly know him from. But then, who knows, maybe he just thought he knew me and we both had a perfectly pleasant conversation with a stranger we don’t know.

We sometimes encounter people, even perfect strangers, who begin to interest us at first sight, somehow suddenly, all at once, before a word has been spoken.

 Fyodor Dostoevsky

 

airports and laminal meetings

Tags

airports, laminal, strangers, travel

The nice thing about being someone who goes to bed late is that you get a lot done in those dark hours of the night while everyone else is already in the world of dreams. It also meant that I had plenty of time this morning and was able to fully enjoy the airport experience.

Airports are funny places, people are either coming or going, tears and laughter meet on equal grounds, and everything is transient. They are places of the in-between, the neither here nor there, a portal to adventures, work, joy and sadness.

Big screens constantly remind everyone of their departing or arrivals, a mix of languages is scattered around like a bag of pile pieces ready to be sorted and placed. Everything is on the verge, on the brink, just about to happen – or just did.

So while I sat sipping my cappuccino and chatting to a stranger about Irish horse-racing (which I know nothing about and he, as an owner of a stud, everything) I could help but smile at the oddity of it all …

After all when would I ever meet a 60plus gentleman in tweeds on his way to sell horses to some oil millionaire in the Eremites, a suitcase filled with trophies by his feet and a sample of horse-feed in his pocket?

As I waved goodbye and left for my gate I let the joy of the laminal meeting wash over me. Airports just seem to be the perfect place for the fleeting, no less true, just short lived.