The Importance of Talking to Strangers

A year ago I found myself in Ljubljana, Slovenia of all places. As I approached a busy intersection, I asked a young woman on a white Vespa what I could expect to see if I kept walking. 

“Not much,” she said. “How long have you been here?” she asked. 

“A few hours,” I explained. 

“You’ve probably already seen everything,” she said, as I laughed. “I can show you around if you like.” 

Her name was Nina and she was a 26-year old teacher originally from a neighboring town. She had a beautiful abandonment of heart, a love of life that is a common hallmark of youth but hers was different. I sensed it would remain with her for the rest of her life. She reverberated with life almost as loud as her white scooter as we sped down narrow streets.

I told her how the last time I was on the back of a stranger’s scooter was while living in Shanghai as an English teacher. I was returning home from the bars on Maoming Lu one evening, watching the cab’s meter carefully, planning to be let off just before the fair exceeded the coins in my pocket. When I was finally dropped off I still had a mile and half to go at nearly 3:00 in the morning.

I noticed a man about to get on his motorcycle and somehow communicated I needed a ride. He rubbed his fingers together indicating money, I pointed to my fake Rolex watch, he gestured back to the bike and off we went. 

Never was so much said in so few words.

There I was, a 24-year old punk kid, riding on the back of a stranger’s motorcycle in one of the world’s greatest cities just a few hours before the sun would rise. And now, over a decade later I’d come nearly full circle.

We zipped past buildings and parks that Nina admittedly had very little knowledge of. “I can’t really tell you what these places are,” she shouted back to me. We made conversation, alternating which side to scream back to one another as we moved nimbly through traffic. 

Soon we found a spot just outside the Gallery of Modern Art. We sat across from each other and spoke spiritedly about Haruki Murakami, Maslow, travel, relationships, and what I could not miss before I left.

She also mentioned that Slovenians were not a patriotic people echoing exactly what Jurij had told me in the apartment just a few hours before. We don’t have that problem, I thought.

Soon it was time for Nina to run some errands. We agreed to meet up later in the evening. She wanted to introduce me to some of her friends and I suggested bringing Jurij along as well. We hugged as I thanked her for her kindness and generosity. 

“No problem,” she said as she put on her shiny white helmet. “You should always talk to strangers,” she said. 

I was sure glad I had.