Spent the day sightseeing in Shanghai. Decided to get back on the train to head to our hotel. It just so happens to be five o clock. The evening rush has began and there is a queue forming. There are about twenty people in front of us and twenty people behind us. The train arrives and the pushing begins. I eyeball an estimate of twenty additional people that can board the train. I get to the front of the line and people just keep on pushing. There must have been about fifty more people more then there should have been. A native looks at us and says “Welcome to China.”
I love these little odd ball things that occur. Never fails to happen . These little nuances are what I love about seeing the world.
I once took a bus through Chile, while a local sitting nearby me had earphones on and was singing along during the whole trip. It was an 8 hour bus ride.
He was not a good singer and was singing the same three songs over and over again. At first I guess all the other passengers found it a bit strange or even annoying, but after a few hours I could see everyone smiling, shaking their heads and laughing. He just kept on singing without a care in the world.
A bunch of years ago my husband and I were traveling through India. It was late May so it was stinking hot and the first thing we did as soon as we hit a hotel was to take a shower to wash the sweat and dirt of the day away.
We arrived at this one hotel and I won the toss for first shower so I stripped off and got under the water while my husband went to explore.
I was luxuriating in the feeling of getting clean when I heard someone pounding on the room door. “I’m in the shower!”, I shouted. The pounding continued. “I’m in the shower!”, I shouted again, thinking, What the hell – who ever it is can surely hear the water running, so why don’t they go away. The pounding continued. Now I was pissed. I turned the water off and shouted for a third time, “I’m in the shower!” but no matter, the pounding continued.
“Fine,” I thought. Right. I walked to the room door, threw open the door and said, “I was having a shower. What the hell do you want?”
The young Indian guy at the door, a hotel employee, stood frozen with his mouth hanging open. “What?”, I said. The look of panic on his face told me that being confronted by an angry, soaking wet, naked white lady obviously hadn’t been covered in the Hotel Employee’s Manual.
“Whatever,” I said, and slammed the door in his face. When my husband finally returned we had a good laugh at the thought of the hotel guy and the story he was probably telling down in the kitchen.
I was in Barcelona in May and went for a walk along the beach in the afternoon. It was lively, but not overcrowded or anything. Pleasant! As I walked I decided to stop by some rocks and rest and people-watch. There was a middle-aged man near the rocks, with a moustache and a pleasant attitude. He asked me where I was from, I told him while I was chilling.
Suddenly he says “Mojito?”. I thought I misheard him, so I asked him to repeat what he said. He says “Mojito?” again, and reaches behind the rocks and lifts up a four-segment cup holder containing four plastic cups of mojito. There was nobody beside us, it was the middle of the day, and he seemed to have plucked them from thin air. It was the most bizarre thing.
I politely declined and he recognised I wasn’t interested and stashed them away behind the rocks again.