Prior to this interwebs era people wandered around with TMI they were aching to impart. Total strangers had more of a filter in person, but they still lacked the ‘know your audience’ creed. Many would zero in on the person sans Walkman headphones. Those music listeners missed out, I think. Not being otherwise engaged, I was taken for a receptive listener. I suppose if one is used to talking to walls I might seem slightly more attentive than brick & mortar.

Whilst awaiting a bus a woman in stylish business attire launched into an anecdote about her recent breakup. They’d had an impassioned affair, during the course of which he’d given her a vibrator for Valentine’s Day. Shortly thereafter came the falling out, & she’d tossed a box of mementos from their time together at him…minus the vibrator. “Because, well y’know,” she says laughing.

I wondered at first what made the narrators single me out, eventually concluding it was merely random chance. I just happened to be there. Lucky me? I now wish I’d carried a notebook to jot down these one-sided conversations, a veritable treasure trove of anonymous oversharing. This was my schooling in humanity, a class of Awkward 101.

Public transit, standing in a queue, sitting in a waiting room, etc, elicited such crushing ennui before devices it compelled some to spill the [often sordid] details of their lives. Being the recipient of stories in my homeland, I wanted to experience some of my own.

Du (my sister Julie) & I always wished to travel. We hatched a plan to scrimp & save, lined up some friends living abroad to stay with, bought a guidebook of hostels & cheap places to stay/eat, & a basic phrasebook. We didn’t speak any of the languages (many humans aren’t really fluent in their own anyway), but we weren’t going there to converse. We wanted art, architecture, cultural difference, & alternate restaurant fare. I was excited to go places I hadn’t a clue what anyone was saying.

We could only stay for a month, so it came down to 4 cities, with a couple brief stopovers. One was a single night in Verona (of Romeo & Juliet fame) in a 14th c. convent, now hostel. It was the loveliest hostel we stayed in, but unfortunately lacked adequate heat & ousted patrons at 7am (instead of the usual 9 or 10am). Must still be keeping with the nun hours & lack of luxuries, I guess.

We spent the most time in Amsterdam, Paris, Madrid, & Venice. Florence would’ve been the better choice, but we’d already booked a place to stay. Not only were we drenched in a torrential downpour the night we arrived in Venice, but we got lost in the crazy maze of streets & flooded piazzas of this Italian theme park for almost 2 hours. It’s not that large a city, yet every third street has the same name, then curves around intersecting itself & dead ends at a canal. Apparently the city was platted in a Venetian idea of a Celtic knot.

Many exchanges were skewed; one particularly in The City of Lights. I don’t know why we went into the bookshop in Paris other than a love of books. It wasn’t as if we could read a few paragraphs from any volume. Maybe we just felt comfortable among the chaotic arrangements of independent bookstores? Then my sister had the urge for a libation. We could wander around trying to find a place, but decided to ask the shopkeeper.

I stepped outside for a smoke while she accosted the man in a mix of English & mangled Francais. With wild hair, dark glasses, WWII bomber jacket & bowler, I must’ve looked like an escapee from A Clockwork Orange. Holding a cigarette & leaning against the storefront wall only made me more menacing. If I had chosen to remain inside perhaps what transpired could’ve been avoided.

Due to a sadly vague wording rather than mispronunciation or sloppy syntax, the question my sister put to him left much open to interpretation. “Where can we get a drink?”

Du expects when he ushers her to the door that he’s going to point us in the direction of a bar. Then he steps out, locks the shop, & glares at the loitering miscreant: Me. When I fall in step with them he glowers with the shock of being hoodwinked. We commence down the street in a prickling silence & enter a lively establishment. There’s only a few seats open at the bar. We sit, then order.

Du tries to engage him in some semblance of conversation & pantomime, but he’s squirming with suspicion or embarrassment. I get the feeling he frequents this place. He fairly downs his drink in a gulp. Then he pays the tab over our fumbling objections. Within moments he’s rushing off as if he can’t escape fast enough.

We cringed that he was unintentionally misled, yet there was assumption on his part too. Was the bookshop really a hot pickup spot? Du thought him attractive; that made it worse. Even if she’d wanted a dalliance, I wasn’t going to ditch them & wander by myself. Not only because he slung me dirty looks; we only had one map & phrasebook between us.

An endearing exchange happened in the tiny, inexpensive Montparnasse hotel we stayed in briefly. The concierge (or owner?) was a jovial woman who spoke nonstop in her native language though we rarely understood a word. There was coffee & croissants set out every morning. Upon checking out, she gave us a basket with a bottle of wine & some snacks, & made a fuss over our departure as though we’d be missed.

I may fail to understand others no matter where in the world. Our species is exceedingly odd. Being bewildered is a constant I’m at home with.