A Culture of Strangers
by Shiloh Lane
I grew up in a very small town in Kentucky; I went to college in another very small town in Kentucky; and when I went to “the big city” to go shopping, I really just went to a slightly larger small town in Kentucky. It suffices to say that I didn’t meet a lot of strangers growing up, and when I did, chances were high that I would see them again eventually – probably at a high school ballgame.
That’s partly why I find traveling so interesting – strangers flit in and out of my life as easily as fireflies danced in and out of my grasp when I was a kid. People become a blip on my radar, and then they’re gone forever, which sometimes makes the relationship between the general populace and myself unpredictable.
I’ve discovered that people do crazy things when they don’t plan to see you again. More often, though, I’ve discovered that I do crazy things when I don’t plan to see you again – like forego social grace in pursuit of a photograph. My mother will be mortified to read this, but I find that dignity can get in the way of some really great shots. A few days ago, I was shooting at a crowded Buddhist wat, or temple, and I stumbled across a shot of discarded shoes lying on a mat as a line of worshippers knelt barefoot in the background. In a few seconds, my chin and my camera were on the pavement while my butt stuck straight up in the air. I should have probably been more lady-like, but I got the shot and I made people laugh.
I also love the stories my brief encounters create, the weird little tales I use to make my roommate smile. That same, sweltering day, I was taking a break from shooting while chugging water. My skin was slick with perspiration and my hair looked like Richard Simmons’ curly mop does after 30 minutes of Sweatin’ to the Oldies. Yet, for some reason, one man thought I was a great photo opp. He told his wife to sit next to me and smile, which she reluctantly did. She must have really loved him because I stunk badly. Although it was strange, I like to think that 20 years from now, their family album will hold pictures of his wife with opulent statues of Buddha, his wife in front of gorgeous temples and his wife next to The Random Sweaty Girl. I feel privileged to be that sweaty girl.
It’s really memorable, though, when someone you don’t know does something that makes them feel like family. When I left America, I sat next to two elderly women on one of the three planes it took to get to Southeast Asia. I didn’t know their nationality; I just knew that they were from Asia and that I didn’t speak a lick of their language. Yet, they still grew very concerned over my eating habits. When I didn’t feel like consuming the food, they insisted I do so, and a few hours later, they kindly offered me vegetables in a sandwich bag. When I tried to sleep, they made sure I had a blanket. They reminded me of my own grandmother, only with healthier snacks. I miss them a bit.
I feel like traveling creates it’s own culture, one in which people often care less about what they do because they will never see you again and one in which generous actions mean so much more for precisely that reason. I’m not trying to philosophize or say anything particularly meaningful, I just found myself mulling over the moments we create with each other and contemplating whether or not any of those people will write about me in their blogs. I also wonder if my airplane grandmothers are flying right now, adopting more kids fresh from college who could use a few good vegetables doled out from sandwich bags. I hope they are, anyway.
HA! I feel that way sometimes. Especially with the “I wonder if these people write about me on their blogs.” We tell all these funny stories about random strangers…and sometimes we forget that we ARE that random stranger to someone. Great read, I love your stuff. 🙂
Great post, great stories. I've recently done some of my most extensive travel and also have experienced what you recollect. In Mumbai, after a week of shooting the fantastic people of that city, I noticed an Indian man near the Gateway To India taking a photo of *me* – makes sense, I guess. In the throng of people, I was the only blonde haired, blue eyed person in there – as exotic, I guess, I was to them as they were to me. I stopped and smiled, he took some photos, and then has his children stand with me as well. It warms me to think I may be in their family album too.
Yep, I think it's one of the things I love about travelling …. discovering a whole new me and then wondering who that actually is and do others see me in the same way. The two main things that hit me at such times, are that I talk to a lot of photographers who feel a little strange taking out there gear and walking around, taking shots of what they see in their home town, but have no problem doing the same in a different country. The other is when I stand somewhere with a long history, I start to realise how insignificant I am in the context of that history and can't help but wonder if my being there will ever be thought about in the future by anyone other than me.
I guess it's just a part of the different perspective travel can give to your life, but it fascinates me nonetheless. Thx for sharing
Ian
Thanks, Amber! It makes me wonder what my funny stories are like told from the other person's point of view and what stories I have created for someone else without even knowing it.
lol, it's a good feeling.
Wonderful and encouraging story about the warmth of humanity seen through travel. There is nothing like seeing the compassion of the human soul transcend cultural and political boundaries. Thanks for sharing and inspiring!
Curtis
Great stuff Shiloh! This was a really nice and insightful read.
Lovely, Shiloh. Thank you. Traveling can bring out the very best in people, or the worst, nice to see the former happening with you. I hope our respective travels cause us to cross paths at some point. First round of chai is on me.
Shiloh, I am really enjoying your writing because it brings back memories that I had forgotten about. A few years as I was traveling I was stopped frequently by parents who would force their children into my arms and then take a photo of us. It was such a strange thing for me, but entertaining all the same. Until reading these comments I had never thought to concern myself about whether our pictures found their way into the family photo album!
I know what you mean. I'm often blown away by the mere volume of people on Earth and by the fact that my presence only affects so many. It's overwhelming sometimes.
Thanks, Jeffrey!
lol, You could be immortalized in their family history. It's a nice thought.