Sometimes, just very occasionally, something happens that makes you think that everything really is right with the world, that despite all the bad stuff you see and read in the news, humanity can shine through.
One such occasion dawned as I made my way across my the US border into Canada. I was on my way to Vancouver to catch up with a friend for a few days before heading back into the States to Portland.
I was on a Greyhound bus again, the cheap option when it comes to travel in the States and I'm often reminded of that fact by the shabby looking clientele that seem to frequent these buses on a regular basis. Indeed overnight trips on Greyhound have a notorious reputation and one that has me avoiding any long trips on them. Short trips though have been pleasant enough to warrant little complaint.
For the first time on Greyhound bus I would cross the border into Canada and hadn't really known what to expect. We were told that the bus would pull in at the US side of the border, our luggage would be taken through, we'd pass through customs and immigration before retrieving luggage and meeting the bus on the Canadian side of the Pacific Highway border.
Formalities dispensed with we filed back on the bus. As we were preparing to leave it became apparent that we were missing someone. Our driver returned from her investigation to inform us that a young German girl had been denied entry into Canada on account of insufficient funds.
In the moments that followed I witnessed something quite special. Hands went to pockets, into wallets and up and down the bus money was moving. Here we were on a bus conceived as the cheapest way of getting around and between us we had put together well in excess of $200. The money was handed over to the bus driver who took it down to immigration in the hopes that it might persuade them to let her in.
We waited, and waited. Then, from the doors of the immigration office appeared two woman. The bus driver and a young German girl who re-entered the bus in tears. Tears that called on every emotion. The distress of not getting through and where that would have left her and the unbelieving joy that a bunch of complete strangers would put their heads and money together to help her out.
In those moments I saw something that restored my faith in humanity. That people, even a bunch of total strangers have such compassion for another human, someone they had never met before today and someone they would likely never see again. It was a gesture that came straight from the heart and from the soul and one that left me feeling proud of my fellow man. Stories like this never make the news, instead you'll hear about all the bad stuff that's going on, how protective we must be of ourselves and our children. I just hope that the next time you watch the news and worry about all the bad things going on in the World today that you remember this story. Remember the ones that don't get reported, the ones that make us believe again that there is so much good in this world.
Tuesday 13 November 2007
A Head Butt no Brain!
It comes but once every 4 years, a day that defines a time. A day that 4 weeks ago I dreamt I'd be watching England, a day, in fact that every man dreams he's watching his country play. For two nations that dream is realised today. France and Italy will play each other in the Football World Cup Final. Each team, with a Nations hopes and dreams resting upon their shoulders, life's ambitions a mere 90 minutes away from being realised.
England had long since departed the tournament, crashing out to Portugal in the Quarter Finals, the dream was over for another four years for the English contingent. The Americans had been a huge disappointment as well, failing to get past the group stages and now, here I was, and Englishman, in America about to watch France and Italy battle it out in Germany!
With Seattle my venue and Sandy by my side we set about finding a bar to watch the game. We settled on an Irish Bar around Pike Place Market, having failed to find anywhere else showing it, and joined the throngs within. I was surprised just how many people had turned out here to see the game, a two floor building, the ground floor was packed to the rafters so we settled on a spot in the upstairs bar, still 20 minutes before kick off.
As kick off approached, even the upstairs now was jammed up. Looking around me, hearing conversations it was obvious that people from nations spanning the globe had come together in one place to watch this game. We'd found ourselves chatting to a Frenchman and a Belgian as the game progressed and the beer flowed.
Tensions from those more intimately involved were becoming ever greater as deadlock remained and time ticked on. In extra time they boiled over on the pitch as Zinedine Zidane threw his head in the direction of Italian, Marco Materazzi. Shock at what we'd just witnessed reverberated around the bar, you could almost here the gasps from bars and homes across the world. Zidane, hero to so many, legend not only in his own country but throughout the lands had, in a moment of madness, ended his career. His final moments on the football pitch were to see red and leave the field, taking with him French pride and dreams.
The Italians went on to win the trophy on penalties, but it will be the Zidane head butt that remains in most minds when they talk about the 2006 World Cup Final. For me, watching this game for the first time abroad was an experience in itself. In a country where football means a totally different sport, I'd been able to share the experience with people from all nations, and clearly see in the eyes of the French and Italians just how much this game meant to them.
Sandy and I headed to a bar after the game to have a drink with a couple of the guys we'd met in the bar. A bottle of wine with a Frenchman after such an experience was quintessential in many ways but seemed so right in many many more.
England had long since departed the tournament, crashing out to Portugal in the Quarter Finals, the dream was over for another four years for the English contingent. The Americans had been a huge disappointment as well, failing to get past the group stages and now, here I was, and Englishman, in America about to watch France and Italy battle it out in Germany!
With Seattle my venue and Sandy by my side we set about finding a bar to watch the game. We settled on an Irish Bar around Pike Place Market, having failed to find anywhere else showing it, and joined the throngs within. I was surprised just how many people had turned out here to see the game, a two floor building, the ground floor was packed to the rafters so we settled on a spot in the upstairs bar, still 20 minutes before kick off.
As kick off approached, even the upstairs now was jammed up. Looking around me, hearing conversations it was obvious that people from nations spanning the globe had come together in one place to watch this game. We'd found ourselves chatting to a Frenchman and a Belgian as the game progressed and the beer flowed.
Tensions from those more intimately involved were becoming ever greater as deadlock remained and time ticked on. In extra time they boiled over on the pitch as Zinedine Zidane threw his head in the direction of Italian, Marco Materazzi. Shock at what we'd just witnessed reverberated around the bar, you could almost here the gasps from bars and homes across the world. Zidane, hero to so many, legend not only in his own country but throughout the lands had, in a moment of madness, ended his career. His final moments on the football pitch were to see red and leave the field, taking with him French pride and dreams.
The Italians went on to win the trophy on penalties, but it will be the Zidane head butt that remains in most minds when they talk about the 2006 World Cup Final. For me, watching this game for the first time abroad was an experience in itself. In a country where football means a totally different sport, I'd been able to share the experience with people from all nations, and clearly see in the eyes of the French and Italians just how much this game meant to them.
Sandy and I headed to a bar after the game to have a drink with a couple of the guys we'd met in the bar. A bottle of wine with a Frenchman after such an experience was quintessential in many ways but seemed so right in many many more.
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