Strangers On A Train

Saturday. My first day in Sri Lanka. It was marred by an uncomfortable encounter with a bloke on the train.

My two companions and I boarded, and I ended up sitting on my own, next to the window.

Some ten minutes later we were still sitting in the station. I’d stopped looking out of the window at Fort Station, Columbo, and was reading my Lonely Planet. I suspect I may have looked a bit like a tourist, or, worse, a traveller. A local chap, who by my estimation must’ve been 55 and 364 days, boarded and sat next to me.

He struck up a conversation. It went a bit like this:

“Where from?” he asked.

Always a tricky one. I'm constantly being asked this; in Singapore by taxi drivers, salesmen, cable installers and pupils; in Sri Lanka by everyone. I have about 15 different answers. Went into the long explanation – Singapore, UK, England, Bristol, etc etc.

Very quickly, he took on the role of tour guide. He elicited from me that I was going to Unawatuna and gave me the following advice, instructions and information:

1) Unawatuna is the best beach in Sri Lanka, and the 6th best in the world.
2) Stay in the Golden Gate guest house – I explained we’d already booked somewhere else.
3) It was his 56th birthday the next day and he was visiting his family for two days before returning to Columbo to work on Sunday. No more days off till the next Sunday.
4) He worked at the ticket office in the station.
5) Go to Marissa – it is the best beach in Sri Lanka(?) with the clearest water.
6) You can get the bus there – they go every half hour.
7) Go to the old city of Galle.
8) You don’t need your Lonely Planet now, do you?
9) I’ve saved you lots of money with my advice.

This was all very interesting, despite the fact that we’d already decided to do all of the things he’d suggested, and I was enjoying talking to him.

However, once he’d finished giving me this information, advice and instruction, he then told me the same thing again. And again. And again. Always with slightly different wording. Always as if it had only just occurred to him. Always emphasising that it was his birthday the next day, that I should stay at the Golden Gate despite the fact that I'd already booked elsewhere, and that he’d saved me lots of money. He was even more repetitious than many of my entries on this blog.

At one point, I interrupted him as he was getting to the: “You don’t need your Lonely Planet now” bit by miming throwing it out of the window.

Finally, 40 minutes later, he informed me:

“It’s my 56th birthday tomorrow. I don’t drink very often. Do you know what I mean? I’d like a drink?”

Of course, I knew exactly what he meant. However, I replied:

“Yes, that will be nice, to have a drink with your family.”

He shuffled around in his seat a little, as I did in mine.

“Maybe you can give me some money for a drink?”

I had been expecting this for some time.

“I don’t have any change,” I replied.
“You can get some from the people selling things.”
“I don’t think so.”
“How about from your friends?”
“Sorry.”

I was now feeling somewhat prickly.

Silence for a couple of minutes.

We then had the same conversation again. I was beginning to feel like I was trapped inside Chris Moyles’ head – another person who makes money by saying the same thing over and over again. However, he changed tack and tone:

“I’m asking you for only a pound in your own country,” he informed me, exasperation in his voice. I found myself saying, inexplicably and pathetically:

“I thought you were just being friendly.”

I started to look out of the window. I felt like a child in a playground argument. He got up and walked away with the dramatic parting shot:

“I don’t want to be near you anymore.”

No one’s ever said that to me before.

Of course, I felt terrible. Everyone (including Lonely Planet) advises you not to give money to people because it "encourages begging". If I’d had change I might have given it to him, but then he might have stayed for the entire three hour journey. I had initially thought that he was just making conversation. I found myself thinking that he’d manipulated the situation, turning himself into a travel guide I didn’t need, making me go from being made to feel very welcome to feeling like a stingy tourist traveller pariah in a matter of minutes. It’s a strange ethical issue – I felt like he’d expected money for the information, and should have negotiated with me before giving it to me. All felt a bit underhand.

My conscience told me otherwise. "So what?" it asked. Maybe he did just want a drink with his family. I knew that whatever his motives were, he was loads poorer than me. Would I do the same thing if I was in his shoes? Did he feel shame and indignity at having to ask a stranger for money? Did I make him feel worse than he’d made me feel?

The train, which had been standing in the station all this time, finally started moving. I saw him only one more time on the journey, just before his stop, when he stood at the end of my carriage, staring at me, as if to say "I still don't want to be near you anymore".

No one's ever looked at me like that before.

On the journey back the next Thursday, he boarded the train back to Columbo at a different stop and walked past me. He paused, smiled, and looked about to sit next to me again. A flicker of recognition appeared on his face. The smile disappeared and he moved along to the next carriage.

I found myself wondering whether he spent his days on the train talking to Westerners in an attempt to make money. I wondered whether it was his 56th birthday tomorrow. Then I felt horrendously guilty for thinking that.

At least I knew he’d lied to me about having to be back to work on Monday. But it still didn’t make me feel any better.

The worst thing was, this encounter led to, I have to admit it... I'm ashamed to... prejudice – I was cautious about striking up conversation with anyone who claimed it was their birthday the next day from that point on. I, as you may be able to imagine, felt terribly guilty about that, too.

So, do you think I’d cope with India?

I should point out that I've already described a very different encounter with a Sri Lankan in Unawatuna Bay which more than balances this one out.