"Don't speak to strangers."
I am offended and embarrassed everytime my dad says this to me- for I know he means don't get friendly with men with whom you'll potentially fall in love with and lose your focus on making a lot of money. 'Dad, I'm sorry to say that I will date men while still working on my career, but that doesn't mean I'm a fool that falls in love with whoever I meet in the streets- your daughter here has standards, you know.'
So after going through a couple torturous chats and promises ending in me answering, "yes, dad I promise I won't talk to strangers", I bought a ticket in the bus terminal, got on bus number 4, checked my seat number on my ticket which was next to a skinny, old, bald man who had his hands wrapped around a backpack that matched his shoes.
Forgetting all about my promise to my dad, I took a seat and as any civilized human being does, said good morning to the person next to me. He replied with a buenos días, and went back to listening to whatever he was listening through his earphones plugged to his phone.
I also took out my phone, which was packed with delicious podcasts to auditively devour during my four-hour bus journey. Fifteen-minutes into the ride, an old woman in the seat across the aisle pulled on my sleeve to ask me some questions- it was her first time travelling back to Cuenca and wanted to know how long it would take and wanted a reassurance that she'd gotten on the correct bus. The bus ride from then on turned into a three way conversation between this old lady, me and the old man sitting next to me.
The old lady said she lived in a small town on the outskirts of Cuenca. She refused to reveal the name of the town- just repeated it was a small town we'd never heard of. She was small and the wrinkles of her face were like delicate brush strokes that emphasized her brightest expressions. She didn't speak much but participated in our conversation actively leaning towards us and nodding. Every now and then she'd tap my elbow signing me to look out the window to look at a house, a herd of cows or the shape of clouds. I'd take out my phone to take a picture but everytime the three of us would lament that I was always a step too late from the capturing the lovely scenery because my phone camera wouldn't focus. Although it was through her that our four-hour long interaction started- the only fact she willingly revealed was that she had two daughters- both who made a living selling flowers.
The real star of our conversation was the man enjoying the window seat next to me. He's such an interesting character I set my mind to write a post about him from the moment I got off the bus. His name is Samuel, his last name I shall refrain from revealing. He's a seventy-four year old retired hat designer who had a shop called "Samuel's Hats" in New York, three blocks from where the Twin Towers were. He specifically designed and made hats that Black women wore to church, English women wore on their outings, and Derby aficionad(a)s wore to horse racing events. The photographs and designs he proudly showed us were extravagances that I bet neither I or the old lady across the aisle would ever feel comfortable wearing.
He said he was interested in beekeeping which he wanted to start in Cuenca, the land he'd left and comes back only to remember his late parents. Our conversation shifted to Eucalyptus trees, when he mentioned his land was filled with them- we spoke of the wonderful fragrance of their leaves and swapped tips on the various medicinal usages they have. I asked both of them if they knew where I could buy flower seeds (I am always in the looks for cappuccine seeds- for they are nowhere to be found in my city, even though these edible flowers are everywhere and anywhere else around the globe)- the old lady told me to visit the flower plaza and Don Samuel promised he'd ask around and let me know if he found out. The next day, while I sat in a crowded Sunrise Cafe happily dipping my fish in tartar sauce and my french fries in a mixture of tartar sauce, hot sauce and ketchup, I got a message from Don Samuel with the address to a tiny seed shop in downtown.
I Google mapped my way to the seed shop. They unfortunately didn't have cappuccine seeds but I got myself packets of Dragon flower, Italian Roma tomato and sunflower seeds for myself, and Daikon radish seeds for my dad. When I came home and gave him the packet of seeds my dad was delighted and wondered how I'd found them. I just told him I got them in a store in the downtown area of Cuenca. I wasn't gonna risk telling him about Samuel the hat designer I met on the bus and be subjected to a half hour long lecture on why I shouldn't talk to strangers.
All in all, I think another one of the perks of travelling alone is meeting people and learning not only about them but through their indirect life experiences.
Don Samuel deserves a verbum portrait of his own, don't you think? So if I were to word out a visual portrait of him, I'd get a hand-woven hat made of Eucalyptus branches and leaves, tie a blue-white-orange patterned band between the brim and the crown, set it on a grassy ground and take a picture with a polaroid camera.
The old lady said she lived in a small town on the outskirts of Cuenca. She refused to reveal the name of the town- just repeated it was a small town we'd never heard of. She was small and the wrinkles of her face were like delicate brush strokes that emphasized her brightest expressions. She didn't speak much but participated in our conversation actively leaning towards us and nodding. Every now and then she'd tap my elbow signing me to look out the window to look at a house, a herd of cows or the shape of clouds. I'd take out my phone to take a picture but everytime the three of us would lament that I was always a step too late from the capturing the lovely scenery because my phone camera wouldn't focus. Although it was through her that our four-hour long interaction started- the only fact she willingly revealed was that she had two daughters- both who made a living selling flowers.
The real star of our conversation was the man enjoying the window seat next to me. He's such an interesting character I set my mind to write a post about him from the moment I got off the bus. His name is Samuel, his last name I shall refrain from revealing. He's a seventy-four year old retired hat designer who had a shop called "Samuel's Hats" in New York, three blocks from where the Twin Towers were. He specifically designed and made hats that Black women wore to church, English women wore on their outings, and Derby aficionad(a)s wore to horse racing events. The photographs and designs he proudly showed us were extravagances that I bet neither I or the old lady across the aisle would ever feel comfortable wearing.
He said he was interested in beekeeping which he wanted to start in Cuenca, the land he'd left and comes back only to remember his late parents. Our conversation shifted to Eucalyptus trees, when he mentioned his land was filled with them- we spoke of the wonderful fragrance of their leaves and swapped tips on the various medicinal usages they have. I asked both of them if they knew where I could buy flower seeds (I am always in the looks for cappuccine seeds- for they are nowhere to be found in my city, even though these edible flowers are everywhere and anywhere else around the globe)- the old lady told me to visit the flower plaza and Don Samuel promised he'd ask around and let me know if he found out. The next day, while I sat in a crowded Sunrise Cafe happily dipping my fish in tartar sauce and my french fries in a mixture of tartar sauce, hot sauce and ketchup, I got a message from Don Samuel with the address to a tiny seed shop in downtown.
I Google mapped my way to the seed shop. They unfortunately didn't have cappuccine seeds but I got myself packets of Dragon flower, Italian Roma tomato and sunflower seeds for myself, and Daikon radish seeds for my dad. When I came home and gave him the packet of seeds my dad was delighted and wondered how I'd found them. I just told him I got them in a store in the downtown area of Cuenca. I wasn't gonna risk telling him about Samuel the hat designer I met on the bus and be subjected to a half hour long lecture on why I shouldn't talk to strangers.
All in all, I think another one of the perks of travelling alone is meeting people and learning not only about them but through their indirect life experiences.
Don Samuel deserves a verbum portrait of his own, don't you think? So if I were to word out a visual portrait of him, I'd get a hand-woven hat made of Eucalyptus branches and leaves, tie a blue-white-orange patterned band between the brim and the crown, set it on a grassy ground and take a picture with a polaroid camera.