In the run-up to Christmas last December an amount of snow that would hardly have perturbed the average Moscovite, Swede or Canadian crippled the national infrastructure of Britain and the Netherlands, along with most other countries in Western Europe. Planes no longer took off from ice-covered airports, cars and trucks got stranded in snow drift-blocked motorways, and passengers were stuck in freezing trains and stations as the tracks were unusable. This post will not add to the chorus-voice of anger and shock at the inability of any company or government in any country impacted to help with the situation. Sometimes no agency 'neath heaven can do anything about the vagaries of weather.
Rather, it is about something that made me feel better about my fellow man. I myself had foolishly decided to undertake some travelling during the 'snow-storms'. First a flight home from London to the Netherlands, then a trip by train to my little brother in Maastricht, and finally a number of journeys around the country to visit more family and friends. Admittedly, I could have done without all the disruptions: a flight cancellations, long delays and detours on the trains, yet as I was stuck in airports and trainstations I observed a genial dichotomy in the behaviour of people. On the one hand there was understandable anger and annoyance at the delays, but at the same time people seemed kinder, more patient, and keener to interact with their fellow travellers.
The anger was also not directed at the sometimes hapless ground staff of the airlines and the station personnel of the railways. People understood that they themselves were almost as ignorant about the situation as the traveller himself. No, people were angry at the larger companies for their inability to inform even their own staff of the situation and the seemingly complete lack of effort to fix anything. I noticed this when, stuck at Eindhoven train station on my way to Maastricht, people joked with staff about the broken signals somewhere down the track. The NS (Dutch National Railways) member of staff showed what information he had on his little handheld device. It told him, he said, that the signal would be repaired when it would be repaired and not any sooner and at some point the NS would decide to schedule replacement bus services, but he did not know when. He said that all he knew was that the bus would come eventually, unless it got stuck in the snow too. Not a good joke, but people smiled all the same, for they realized that the chap knew as little as they did, but at least understood their predicament and sympathized.
Then, when the busses eventually came, we all got on and began to share our stories of being stuck at some small one-tracked village station waiting for a train to emerge out of the blinding-white curtain of snow; or like me, scrambling at some airport to book the last seat on the last flight to take off before ice overwhelmed the tarmack. Instead of coccooning ourselves in our little worlds of I-phone games and head-phone music, we listended and nodded and laughed with each other. For a little while we understood, to paraphrase John Donne, that we were not islands, entire of ourselves, but part of something larger.
And when the busses finally brought us to the next station where we all took trains to our separate destinations we said quick goodbyes, wished each other happy holidays, and - as I assume most people will have done - totally forgot about this brief shared experience. Still, it all made the long waits at stations and airports a little more bareable, and maybe if the harsh winters keep coming something about the joys of talking to each other, even people you don't know, may stick and teach us all a lesson about social behaviour. Or not. The dreamer that I am can hope, of course, but the cynic in me is not holding his breath. But at least I got free coffee from the NS for waiting patiently, so I'll always have that memory to look back on.
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